BBHRi 


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*a 


: •  / 


HEROINES 


HISTORY 


Sllftif 


BD  ITZ  3     BY 

MARY    E.    HEWITT 


'  A  perfect  woman  nobly  plann'd, 
To  warn,  to  comfort,  and  command  ; 
And  yet  of  spirit  still  and  bright, 
With  something  of  an  angel  light." — WORDSWORTH. 


NEW    YORK: 

CORNISH,   LAMPORT   &   CO.,   PUBLISHERS, 
No.    8,    PARK    PLACE. 

1852. 


Entered  according  to  Act  of  Congress  in  the  year  1852,  by 
CORNISH,    LAMPORT   &    Co., 

In  the  Clerk's  Office  of  the  District  Court  of  the  United  States,  for  the  Southern 
District  of  New  York. 


Stereotyped  by  Vincent  Dill,  Jr., 
No.  29  BeeTrman  Street,  N    T. 


IN  the  following  pages,  I  have  endeavored  to  present  to 
the  reader,  as  far  as  the  limits  of  a  single  volume  would 
permit,  from  a  variety  of  sources,  sketches  of  the  lives  of 
women,  rendered  illustrious  by  their  heroism  and  their 
virtues. 

To  carry  out  this  intention,  then,  to  the  letter,  I  ought, 
perhaps,  to  have  omitted  the  sketch  of  Semiramis,  who  is 
described  by  one  of  her  historians,  as  "  a  monster,  pos- 
sessed of  every  vice ;"  but  she  lived  so  far  back  in  the 
ages  of  the  world,  that  this  account  of  her  appears,  to  us, 
to  be  merely  suppositious,  and  I  have  chosen  to  introduce 
her  here,  as  an  example  of  the  indomitable  courage  and 
bravery,  of  purpose  and  action,  sometimes  displayed  by 
woman,  when  placed  in  a  situation  to  call  them  forth. 
That  Seiniramis  lived  in  an  idolatrous  age,  and  was,  like 
those  of  the  time  in  which  she  flourished,  a  believer  in  the 
pagan  doctrine  of  fatalism,  will  account  for  her  seemingly 
puerile  abandonment  of  her  ambitious  career,  and  cowardly 
submission  to  what  she  believed  to  be  the  incontrovertible 

decree  of  Destiny. 

M.  E.  H. 


eoissss*. 


SEMIRAMIS,  -        -         -  *    -        -         -        -        -        -9 

NICTORIS,  ......---19 

ZENOBIA,      ----------25 

BOADICEA,          -         -        -.-        -        -*-        -        -        87 
BERENGERIA,        ------.--45 

LAURA,  ......---77 

JOAN  OF  ARC,      ---------89 

ISABELLA  OF  CASTILE,       -------       101 

BEATRICE  CENCI,          --------  166 

ANN  BOLEYN, 177 

LADY  JANE  GRAY,      --------  203 

LEONORA  D  '  ESTE,  .........      215 

CATHERINE  ALEXIEWNA,     -------  227 

MARIA  THERESA, 263 

CHARLOTTE  CORDAY,  .------  317 

JOSEPHINE,        .--  ..---       331 


§  e  StK)  i  ir  ^  ty  I 


SEMIRAMIS,  Queen  of  Assyria,  is  the  first  female  sovereign 
upon  record  who  ever  held  undivided  empire.  All  the  accounts 
which  have  come  down  to  us  concerning  this  celebrated  queen, 
are  mixed  up  with  so  much  exaggeration,  absurdity,  and  mytho- 
logical fiction,  that  she  may  be  considered  partly  a  fabulous  and 
partly  an  historical  personage.  As  beheld  through  the  long 
lapse  of  ages,  and  in  the  dim  distance  of  primeval  time,  with 
all  her  gorgeous  and  Babylonish  associations  around  her,  Semi- 
ramis  appears  to  our  fancy  rather  as  a  colossal  emblem  of  female 
sovereignty,  overshadowing  the  East,  than  as  a  real  and  distinct 
individual ;  yet,  that  such  a  woman  did  once  exist  is  more  than 
probable,  and  her  name  has  been  repeated  from  age  to  age,  till 
it  has  become  so  illustrious,  and  her  exploits  and  character  so 
frequently  alluded  to  in  history,  in  poetry,  and  in  the  arts,  that 
it  is  obviously  necessary  to  be  acquainted  with  the  traditions  re- 
specting her  ;  though  quite  unnecessary  to  give  implicit  credit 
to  the  relation  of  events  resting  on  such  vague,  remote,  and 
doubtful  testimony,  that,  if  it  be  difficult  to  believe,  it  is  im- 
possible to  confute  them.  The  time  at  which  Semiramis  lived 
is  a  matter  of  dispute  j  and  the  authorities  vary  so  extravagantly 


10  SEMIRAMIS. 


that  we  are  tempted  to  exclaim,  with  Bryant,  "  What  credit  can 
possibly  be  given  to  the  history  of  a  person,  the  period  of  whose 
existence  cannot  be  ascertained  within  1500  years  ?"  Yet,  so 
universal  a  celebrity  must  surely  have  had  some  foundation  in 
truth. 

According  to  Rollin,  Semiramis  flourished  about  1950  years 
before  the  Christian  era,  that  is,  about  400  years  after  the  Flood, 
and  nearly  about  the  time  of  Abraham.  Other  chronologists, 
with  far  more  probability,  place  her  reign  about  600  years  later ; 
thus  making  her  nearly  contemporary  with  Gideon,  Judge  of 
Israel,  and  Theseus,  King  of  Athens. 

She  was  born  at  Ascalon,  in  Syria,  and  was  the  wife  of  Me- 
nones,  one  of  the  generals  of  Ninus,  King  of  Assyria.  At  the 
siege  of  Bactria,  whither  she  accompanied  her  husband,  she  dis- 
tinguished herself  by  her  prudence  and  courage,  and  through 
her  sagacity  the  city  was  at  length  taken,  after  a  protracted 
siege.  She  discovered  a  weak  part  in  the  fortifications,  and  led 
some  soldiers  up  a  by-path  by  night,  by  which  means  the  walls 
were  scaled,  and  the  city  entered.  Ninus,  struck  with  her  wis- 
dom and  her  charms,  entreated  her  husband  to  resign  Semiramis 
to  him,  offering  his  daughter,  the  Princess  Sosana,  in  exchange, 
and  threatening  to  put  out  the  eyes  of  the  husband  if  he  refused. 
Menones,  seeing  the  king  resolved  on  his  purpose,  and  the  lady 
in  all  probability  nothing  loath,  and  unable  to  determine  between 
the  alternatives  presented  to  him — the  loss  of  his  eyes,  or  the 
loss  of  his  wife — hung  himself  in  a  fit  of  jealousy  and  despair, 
and  Ninus  immediately  afterward  married  his  widow.  Semiramis 
became  the  mother  of  a  son  named  Ninias,  and  the  king,  dying 
soon  afterward,  bequeathed  to  her  the  government  of  his  empire 
during  the  minority  of  his  son.  We  have  another  version  of 
this  part  of  the  story  of  Semiramis,  which  has  afforded  a  fine 


SEMIRAMIS.  11 


subject  for  poets  and  satirists.  It  is  recorded  that  Ninus,  in  the 
extravagance  of  his  dotage,  granted  to  his  young  and  beautiful 
queen  the  absolute  sovereignty  of  his  empire  for  a  single  day. 
He  seated  her  on  his  regal  throne,  placed  his  signet  on  her  finger, 
commanded  the  officers  of  state  and  courtiers  to  do  her  homage, 
himself  setting  the  first  example,  and  her  decrees  during  that 
brief  space  of  time  were  to  be  considered  absolute  and  irrevo- 
cable. Semiramis,  with  equal  subtlety  and  audacity,  instantly 
took  advantage  of  her  delegated  power,  and  ordered  her  husband 
to  be  first  imprisoned,  and  then  strangled — a  punishment  which 
his  folly  would  almost  have  deserved  from  any  other  hand.  She 
declared  herself  his  successor,  and  contrived  to  retain  the  su- 
preme power  during  the  remainder  of  her  life.  She  was  twenty 
years  of  age  when  she  assumed  the  reins  of  empire,  and  resolved 
to  immortalize  her  name  by  magnificent  monuments  and  mighty 
enterprizes.  She  is  said  to  have  founded  the  city  of  Babylon, 
or  at  least  to  have  adorned  it  with  such  prodigious  and  splendid 
works  that  they  ranked  among  the  wonders  of  the  world.  When 
we  read  the  accounts  of  the  "  Great  Babylon,"  of  its  walls  and 
brazen  gates,  its  temples,  bridges,  and  hanging  gardens,  we  should 
be  inclined  to  treat  the  whole  as  a  magnificent  fiction  of  poetry, 
if  the  stupendous  monuments  of  human  art  and  labor  still  re- 
maining in  India  and  Upper  Egypt,  did  not  render  credible  the 
most  extravagant  of  these  descriptions,  and  prove  on  what  a  gi- 
gantic scale  the  ancients  worked  for  immortality.  We  are  also 
told  that  among  the  edifices  erected  by  her  was  a  mausoleum  to 
the  memory  of  the  king,  her  husband,  adjoining  the  great  Tower 
of  Babel,  and  adorned  with  statues  of  massive  gold.  When 
Semiramis  had  completed  the  adornment  of  her  capital  by  the 
most  wonderful  works  of  art,  she  undertook  a  progress  through 
her  vast  empire,  and  everywhere  left  behind  her  glorious  me- 


12  SEMIRAMIS. 


morials  of  her  power  and  her  benevolence.  It  seems  to  have 
been  an  article  of  faith  among  all  the  writers  of  antiquity,  that 
Assyria  had  never  been  so  great  and  so  prosperous  as  under  the 
dominion  of  this  extraordinary  woman.  She  built  enormous 
aqueducts,  connected  the  various  cities  by  roads  and  causeways, 
in  the  construction  of  which  she  leveled  hills  and  filled  up  val- 
leys ;  and  she  was  careful,  like  the  imperial  conqueror  of  modern 
times,  to  inscribe  her  name  and  the  praises  of  her  own  munifi- 
cence on  all  these  monuments  of  her  greatness.  In  one  of  these 
inscriptions  she  gives  her  own  genealogy,  in  a  long  list  of  celes- 
tial progenitors ;  which  shows  that,  like  some  other  monarchs 
of  the  antique  time,  she  had  the  weakness  to  disown  her  ple- 
beian origin,  and  wished  to  lay  claim  to  a  divine  and  fictitious 
parentage  : — 

"  My  father  was  Jupiter  Belus  ; 

My  grandfather,  Babylonian  Saturn  ; 

My  great-grandfather,  Ethiopian  Saturn  ; 

My  great-grandfather's  father,  Egyptian  Saturn  ; 

And  my  great-grandfather's  grandfather, 

Phoenix  Coelus  Ogyges." 

After  reading  this  high-sounding  catalogue  of  grandfathers  and 
great-grandfathers,  it  is  amusing  to  recollect  that  Semiramis  has 
left  posterity  in  some  doubt  whether  she  herself  ever  had  a  real 
existence,  and  may  not  be,  after  all,  as  imaginary  a  personage 
as  any  of  her  shadowy,  heaven-sprung  ancestors 

There  is  another  of  the  inscriptions  of  Semiramis,  which  is  in 
a  much  finer  spirit : — 

"  Nature  bestowed  on  me  the  form  of  a  woman  ;  my  actions  hare  sur- 
passed those  of  the  most  valiant  of  men.'  I  ruled  the  empire  of  Ninus, 
•which  stretched  eastward  as  far  as  the  river  Hyhanam,  southward  to 


SEMIRAMIS.  13 


the  land  of  incense  and  of  myrrh,  and  northward  to  the  country  of  the 
Scythians  and  the  Sogdians.  Before  me  no  Assyrian  had  seen  the  great 
sea.  I  beheld  with  my  own  eyes  four  seas,  and  their  shores  acknow- 
ledged my  power.  I  constrained  the  mighty  rivers  to  flow  according  to 
my  will,  and  I  led  their  waters  to  fertilize  lands  that  had  been  before 
barren  and  without  inhabitants.  I  raised  impregnable  towers  ;  I  con- 
structed paved  roads  in  ways  hitherto  untrodden  but  by  the  beasts  of 
the  forest  j  and  in  the  midst  of  these  mighty  works  I  found  time  for 
pleasure  and  for  friendship." 

We  are  told  that  Senriramis  was  extremely  active  and  vigilant 
in  the  administration  of  her  affairs.  One  morning,  as  she  was 
dressing,  information  was  brought  to  her  that  a  rebellion  had 
broken  out  in  the  city  ;  she  immediately  rushed  forth,  half- 
attired,  her  hair  floating  in  disorder,  appeased  the  tumultuous 
populace  by  her  presence  and  her  eloquence,  and  then  returned 
to  finish  her  toilette. 

Not  satisfied  with  being  the  foundress  of  mighty  cities,  and 
sovereign  over  the  greatest  empire  of  the  earth,  Semiramis  was 
ambitious  of  military  renown.  She  subdued  the  Medes,  the 
Persians,  the  Libyans,  and  the  Ethiopians,  and  afterward  de- 
termined to  invade  India.  She  is  the  first  monarch  on  record 
who  penetrated  beyond  the  Indus,  for  the  expedition  of  Bacchus 
is  evidently  fabulous.  The  amount  of  her  army  appears  to  us 
absolutely  incredible.  She  is  said  to  have  assembled  three  mil- 
lions of  foot-soldiers  and  five  hundred  thousand  cavalry  ;  and  as 
the  strength  of  the  Indians  consisted  principally  in  the  number 
of  their  elephants,  she  caused  many  thousand  camels  to  be  dis- 
guised and  caparisoned  like  elephants  of  war,  in  hopes  of  de- 
ceiving and  terrifying  the  enemy  by  this  stratagem.  Another 
historian  informs  us  that  she  constructed  machines  in  the  shape 
of  elephants,  and  that  these  machines  were  moved  by  some 


14  SEMIRAMIS. 


mechanical  contrivance,  which  was  worked  by  a  single  man  in 
the  interior  of  each.  The  Indian  king  or  chief,  whose  name 
was  Stabrobates,  hearing  of  the  stupendous  armament  which 
was  moving  against  him,  sent  an  ambassador  to  Semiraniis,  de- 
manding who  and  what  she  was  ?  and  why,  without  any  provo- 
cation, she  was  come  to  invade  his  dominions  ?  To  these  very 
reasonable  inquiries  the  Assyrian  queen  haughtily  replied,  "  Go 
to  your  king,  and  tell  him  I  will  myself  inform  him  who  I  am, 
and  why  I  am  come  hither."  Then,  rushing  onward  at  the 
head  of  her  swarming  battalions,  she  passed  the  river  Indus  in 
spite  of  all  opposition,  and  advanced  far  into  the  country,  the 
people  flying  before  her  unresisting,  and  apparently  vanquished. 
But  having  thus  insidiously  led  her  on  till  she  was  surrounded 
by  hostile  lands,  and  beyond  the  reach  of  assistance  from  her 
own  dominions,  the  Indian  monarch  suddenly  attacked  her, 
overwhelmed  her  mock  elephants  by  the  power  and  weight  of 
his  real  ones,  and  completely  routed  her  troops,  who  fled  in  all 
directions.  The  queen  herself  was  wounded,  and  only  saved  by 
the  swiftness  of  her  Arabian  steed,  which  bore  her  across  the 
Indus  ;  and  she  returned  to  her  kingdom  with  scarce  a  third  of 
her  vast  army.  We  are  not  informed  whether  the  disasters  of 
this  war  cured  Semiraniis  of  her  passion  for  military  glory  ;  and 
all  the  researches  of  antiquarians  have  not  enabled  us  to  dis- 
tinguish the  vague  and  poetical  from  the  true,  or  at  least  the 
probable  events  in  the  remainder  of  her  story.  We  have  no 
account  of  the  state  of  manners  and  morals  during  her  reign, 
and  of  the  progress  of  civilization  we  can  only  judge  by  the  great 
works  imputed  to  her.  Among  the  various  accounts  of  her  death 
the  following  is  the  most  probable  : — An  oracle  had  foretold 
that  Semiramis  should  reign  until  her  son  Ninias  conspired 
against  her ;  and  after  her  return  from  her  Indian  expedition 


SEMIRAMIS.  15 


she  discovered  that  Ninias  had  been  plotting  her  destruction. 
She  immediately  called  to  mind  the  words  of  the  oracle,  and, 
without  attempting  to  resist  his  designs,  abdicated  the  throne  at 
once,  and  retired  from  the  world  ;  or,  according  to  others,  she 
was  put  to  death  by  her  son,  after  a  reign  of  forty-two  years. 
The  Assyrians  paid  her  divine  honors  under  the  form  of  a 
pigeon. 


I  c  f  o  <r  I  $  . 


NICTORIS  succeeded  Semiramis  after  an  interval  of  five  genera- 
tions. Having  observed  the  increasing  power  and  restless  spirit 
of  the-  Medes,  and  that  Ninevah,  with  other  cities,  had  fallen  a 
prey  to  their  ambition,  she  proceeded  to  put  her  dominions  in 
the  strongest  posture  of  defence.  She  sunk  a  number  of  canals 
above  Babylon,  which  by  their  disposition  rendered  the  Euphra- 
tes, which  before  flowed  to  the  sea  in  an  almost  even  line,  so  com- 
plicated by  its  windings,  that  in  its  passage  to  Babylon,  it  arrives 
three  times  at  Ardericca,  an  Assyrian  village  ;  and  to  this  hour, 
says  Herodotus,  they  who  wish  to  proceed  from  the  sea  up  the 
Euphrates  to  Babylon,  are  compelled  to  touch  at  Ardericca  three 
times  on  three  different  days.  She  raised  banks  also  to  restrain 
the  river  on  each  side,  that  were  wonderful  for  their  enormous 
height  and  substance.  At  a  considerable  distance  above  Baby- 
lon, turning  aside  a  little  from  the  stream,  she  ordered  an  im- 
mense lake  to  be  dug,  sinking  it  till  they  came  to  the  water  ;  its 
circumference  was  no  less  than  four  hundred  and  twenty  fur- 
longs. The  earth  of  this  was  applied  to  the  embankments  of 
the  river ;  and  the  sides  of  the  lake  were  strengthened  or  lined 
with  stones,  brought  thither  for  that  purpose.  Nictoris  had  in 
view  by  these  works,  first  of  all  to  break  the  violence  of  the  cur- 
rent by  the  number  of  circumflexions,  and  also  to  render  the 
navigation  to  Babylon  as  difficult  as  possible,  with  the  farther 
view  of  keeping  the  Medes  in  ignorance  of  her  affairs,  by  giving 


20  NICTORIS. 


them  no  commercial  encouragement.  Having  rendered  both  of 
these  works  strong  and  secure,  she  next  undertook  to  connect 
both  sides  of  the  city,  through  which  the  river  flowed,  dividing 
it  into  two  parts,  by  the  means  of  a  bridge  ;  and  the  immense 
lake  which  she  had  before  sunk  became  the  farther  means  of 
extending  her  fame.  It  was  a  matter  of  general  inconvenience 
to  the  citizens,  in  the  days  of  former  kings,  that  whoever  desired 
to  pass  from  one  side  of  the  city  to  the  other,  were  obliged  to 
cross  the  water  in  a  boat ;  but  Nictoris  changed  the  course  of  the 
river  by  directing  it  into  the  canal  prepared  for  its  reception. 
When  this  was  full  the  natural  bed  of  the  river  became  dry,  and 
she  then  caused  the  embankments  on  each  side,  near  those 
smaller  gates  which  led  to  the  water,  to  be  lined  with  bricks 
hardened  by  fire.  She  afterwards  erected  a  bridge,  nearly  in  the 
centre  of  the  city,  of  large  stones,  strongly  compacted  with  iron 
and  lead,  and  over  this  the  inhabitants  passed  in  the  day  time 
by  a  square  platform,  which  was  removed  in  the  evening  to  pre- 
vent acts  of  mutual  depredation.  When  the  canal  was  tho- 
roughly filled  with  water,  and  the  bridge  completely  finished  and 
adorned,  the  Euphrates  was  suffered  to  return  to  its  original  bed, 
while  the  canal  and  the  bridge  were  confessedly  of  the  greatest 
utility  to  the  public. 

Nictoris  also  caused  her  tomb  to  be  erected  over  one  of  the 
principal  gates  of  the  city, — in  this  instance  deviating  from  the 
customs  of  her  country — the  Assyrians,  in  their  funeral  rites, 
imitating  in  all  respects  the  Egyptians, — and  placed  upon  it  the 
following  inscription : — 

"  If  any  of  the  sovereigns,  my  successors,  shall  be  in  extreme 
want  of  money,  let  him  open  my  tomb  and  take  as  much  as  he 
may  think  proper.  If  his  necessity  be  not  great,  let  him  forbear ; 
the  experiment  will  perhaps  be  dangerous." 


NICTORIS.  21 

The  tomb  remained  without  injury  till  the  time  and  reign  of 
Darius.  He  was  equally  offended  at  the  gate  being  rendered 
useless,  from  the  general  aversion  to  pass  through  the  place  over 
which  a  dead  body  was  laid,  and  that  the  invitation  thus  held 
out  to  become  affluent,  should  have  been  so  long  neglected. 
Darius  opened  the  tomb  ;  but  instead  of  riches  he  only  found  a 
corpse,  with  a  label  of  this  import — "  If  your  avarice  had  not 
been  equally  base  and  insatiable,  you  would  not  have  intruded 
on  the  repose  of  the  dead." 

Nictoris  was  succeeded  by  her  son  Labynatus,  in  whose  reign 
Babylon  was  taken  by  Cyrus,  during  a  day  of  festivity,  while 
the  citizens  were  engaged  in  dancing  and  merriment. 


Z  e  x  o  6  i    « 


SBHGBIA, 

QUEEN    OF    PALMYRA 

OF  the  government  and  manners  of  the  Arabians  before  the 
time  of  Mahomet,  we  have  few  and  imperfect  accounts  ;  but 
from  the  remotest  ages,  they  led  the  same  unsettled  and  preda- 
tory life  which  they  do  at  this  day,  dispersed  in  hordes,  and 
dwelling  under  tents.  It  was  not  to  those  wild  and  wandering 
tribes  that  the  superb  Palmyra  owed  its  rise  and  grandeur, 
though  situated  in  the  midst  of  their  deserts,  where  it  is  now 
beheld  in  its  melancholy  beauty  and  ruined  splendor,  lite  an 
enchanted  island  in  the  midst  of  an  ocean  of  sands.  The  mer- 
chants who  trafficked  between  India  and  Europe,  by  the  only 
route  then  known,  first  colonized  this  singular  spot,  which  af- 
forded them  a  convenient  resting-place  ;  and  even  in  the  days 
of  Solomon  it  was  the  emporium  for  the  gems  and  gold,  the 
ivory,  gums,  spices,  and  silks  of  the  far  Eastern  countries,  which 
thus  found  their  way  to  the  remotest  parts  of  Europe.  The 
Palmyrenes  were,  therefore,  a  mixed  race — their  origin,  and 
many  of  their  customs,  were  Egyptian  ;  their  love  of  luxury  and 
their  manners  were  derived  from  Persia  ;  their  language,  litera- 
ture, and  architecture,  were  Greek. 

Thus,  like  Venice  and  Genoa,  in  more  modern  times,  Pal- 
myra owed  its  splendor  to  the  opulence  and  public  spirit  of  its 
merchants  ;  but  its  chief  fame  and  historical  interest  it  owes  to 
the  genius  and  heroism  of  a  woman  ! 

Septimia  Zenobia,  for  such  is  her  classical  appellation,  was 


26  Z  E  N  0  B  I  A  . 

the  daughter  of  an  Arab  chief,  Amrou,  the  son  of  Dharb,  the 
son  of  Hassan.  Of  her  first  husband  we  have  no  account ;  she 
was  left  a  widow  at  a  very  early  age,  and  married,  secondly, 
Odenathus,  chief  of  several  tribes  of  the  Desert,  near  Palmyra, 
and  a  prince  of  extraordinary  valor,  and  boundless  ambition. 
Odenathus  was  the  ally  of  the  Romans  in  their  wars  against 
Sapor,  (or,  more  properly,  Shah  Poor),  king  of  Persia.  He 
gained  several  splendid  victories  over  that  powerful  monarch, 
and  twice  pursued  his  armies  even  to  the  gates  of  Ctesiphon,  (or 
Ispahan),  his  capital.  Odenathus  was  as  fond  of  the  chase  as 
of  war  ;  and  hi  all  his  military  hunting  expeditions  he  was  ac- 
companied by  his  wife  Zenobia,  a  circumstance  which  the  Roman 
historians  record  with  astonishment  and  admiration,  as  contrary 
to  their  manners,  but  which  was  the  general  custom  of  the  Arab 
women  of  that  time.  Zenobia  not  only  excelled  her  country- 
women in  the  qualities  for  which  they  were  all  remarkable — in 
courage,  prudence,  and  fortitude,  in  patience  of  fatigue,  and 
activity  of  mind  and  body — she  also  possessed  a  more  enlarged 
understanding  ;  her  views  were  more  enlightened,  hejr  habits 
more  intellectual.  The  successes  of  Odenathus  were  partly 
attributed  to  her,  and  they  were  always  considered  as  reigning 
jointly.  She  was  also  eminently  beautiful — with  the  oriental 
eyes  and  complexion,  teeth  like  pearls,  and  a  voice  of  uncom- 
mon power  and  sweetness. 

Odenathus  obtained  from  the  Romans  the  title  of  Augustus, 
and  General  of  the  East ;  he  revenged  the  fate  of  Valerian,  who 
had  been  taken  captive  and  put  to  death  by  Shah  Poor.  The 
eastern  king,  with  a  luxurious  barbarity  truly  oriental,  is  said  to 
have  used  the  unfortunate  emperor  as  his  footstool  to  mount  his 
horse.  But  in  the  midst  of  his  victories  and  conquests  Odena- 
thus became  the  victim  of  a  domestic  conspiracy,  at  the  head  of 


Z  E  N  O  B  I  A  .  27 

which  was  his  nephew  Mseonius.  He  was  assassinated  at  Emessa 
during  a  hunting  expedition,  and  with  him  his  son  by  his  first 
marriage.  Zenobia  avenged  the  death  of  her  husband  on  his 
murderers  ;  and  as  her  sons  were  yet  in  then*  infancy,  she  first 
exercised  the  supreme  power  in  their  name ;  but  afterward, 
apparently  with  the  consent  of  the  people,  assumed  the  diadem 
with  the  titles  of  "  Augusta  "  and  "  Queen  of  the  East." 

The  Romans  and  their  effeminate  emperor  Gallienus  refused  to 
acknowledge  Zenobia 's  claim  to  the  sovereignty  of  her  husband's 
dominions,  and  Heraclianus  was  sent  with  a  large  army  to  reduce 
her  to  obedience  ;  but  Zenobia  took  the  field  against  him,  en- 
gaged and  totally  defeated  him  in  a  pitched  battle.  Not  satisfied 
with  this  triumph  over  the  haughty  masters  of  the  world,  she 
sent  her  general  Zabdas  to  attack  them  in  Egypt,  which  she 
subdued  and  added  to  her  territories,  together  with  a  part  of 
Armenia  and  Asia  Minor.  Thus,  her  dominions  extended  from 
the  Euphrates  to  the  Mediterranean,  and  over  all  those  vast  and 
fertile  countries  formerly  governed  by  Ptolemy  and  Seleucus. 
Jerusalem,  Antioch,  Damascus,  and  other  cities  famed  in  history, 
were  included  in  her  empire  ;  but  she  fixed  her  residence  at  Pal- 
myra, and  in  an  interval  of  peace  she  turned  her  attention  to 
the  further  adornment  of  her  magnificent  capital.  It  is  related 
by  historians,  that  many  of  those  stupendous  fabrics  of  which 
the  mighty  ruins  are  still  existing,  were  either  erected,  or  at  least 
restored  and  embellished  by  this  extraordinary  woman.  But  that 
which  we  have  most  difficulty  in  reconciling  with  the  manners 
of  her  age  and  country,  was  Zenobia 's  passion  for  study,  and  her 
taste  for  the  Greek  and  Latin  literature.  She  is  said  to  have 
drawn  up  an  epitome  of  history  for  her  own  use  j  the  Greek 
historians,  poets,  and  philosophers,  were  familiar  to  her ;  she 
invited  Longinus,  one  of  the  most  elegant  writers  of  antiquity, 


28  ZENOBIA. 

to  her  splendid  court,  and  appointed  him  her  secretary  and 
minister.  For  her  he  composed  his  famous  "  Treatise  on  the 
Sublime,"  a  work  which  is  not  only  admirable  for  its  intrinsic 
excellence,  but  most  valuable,  as  having  preserved  to  our  times 
many  beautiful  fragments  of  ancient  poets  whose  works  are  now 
lost,  particularly  those  of  Sappho. 

The  classical  studies  of  Zenobia  seem  to  have  inspired  her  with 
some  contempt  for  her  Arab  ancestry.  She  was  fond  of  deriving 
her  origin  from  the  Macedonian  kings  of  Egypt,  and  of  reckon- 
ing Cleopatra  among  her  progenitors.  In  imitation  of  the  famous 
Egyptian  queen,  she  affected  great  splendor  in  her  style  of  liv- 
ing, and  in  her  attire  ;  and  drank  her  wine  out  of  cups  of  gold, 
richly  carved  and  adorned  with  gems.  It  is,  however,  admitted 
that  in  female  dignity  and  discretion,  as  well  as  in  beauty,  she 
far  surpassed  Cleopatra.  She  administered  the  government  of 
her  empire  with  such  admirable  prudence  and  policy,  and  in 
particular  with  such  strict  justice  towards  all  classes  of  her  sub- 
jects, that  she  was  beloved  by  her  own  people,  and  respected 
and  feared  by  the  neighboring  nations.  She  paid  great  attention 
to  the  education  of  her  three  sons,  habited  them  in  the  Roman 
purple,  and  brought  them  up  in  the  Roman  fashion.  But  this 
predilection  for  the  Greek  and  Roman  manners  appears  to  have 
displeased  and  alienated  the  Arab  tribes  ;  for  it  is  remarked  that 
after  this  time  their  fleet  cavalry,  inured  to  the  deserts  and  un- 
equaled  as  horsemen,  no  longer  formed  the  strength  of  her 
army. 

While  Grallienus  and  Claudius  governed  the  Roman  empire, 
Zenobia  was  allowed  to  pursue  her  conquests,  rule  her  domin- 
ions, and  enjoy  her  triumphs  almost  without  opposition.  But  at 
length  the  fierce  and  active  Aurelian  was  raised  to  the  purple ; 
and  he  was  indignant  that  a  woman  should  thus  brave  with  im- 


Z  E  N  O  B  I  A  .  29 

punity  the  offended  majesty  of  Rome.  Having  subdued  all  his 
competitors  in  the  West,  he  turned  his  arms  against  the  Queen 
of  the  East.  Zenohia,  undismayed  by  the  terrors  of  the  Roman 
name,  levied  troops,  placed  herself  at  their  head,  and  gave  the 
second  command  to  Zabdas,  a  brave  and  hitherto  successful  gen- 
eral. The  first  great  battle  took  place  near  Antioch  ;  Zenobia 
was  totally  defeated  after  an  obstinate  conflict.  But,  not  dis- 
heartened by  this  reverse,  she  retired  upon  Emessa,  rallied  her 
armies,  and  once  more  defied  the  Roman  emperor.  Being  again 
defeated  with  great  loss,  and  her  army  nearly  dispersed,  the 
high-spirited  queen  withdrew  to  Palmyra,  collected  her  friends 
around  her,  strengthened  her  fortifications,  and  declared  her 
resolution  to  defend  her  capital  and  her  freedom  to  the  last 
moment  of  her  existence. 

Zenobia  was  conscious  of  the  great  difficulties  which  would 
attend  the  seige  of  a  great  city,  well  stored  with  provisions,  and 
naturally  defended  by  surrounding  deserts ;  these  deserts  were 
infested  by  clouds  of  Arabs,  who,  appearing  and  disappearing 
with  the  swiftness  and  suddenness  of  a  whirlwind,  continually 
harrassed  her  enemies.  Thus  defended  without,  and  supported 
by  a  strong  garrison  within,  Zenobia  braved  her  antagonist  from 
the  towers  of  Palmyra  as  boldly  as  she  had  defied  him  in  the 
field  of  battle.  The  expectation  of  succors  from  the  East 
added  to  her  courage,  and  determined  her  to  persevere  to  the 
last.  "  Those,"  said  Aurelian  in  one  of  his  letters,  "  who  speak 
with  contempt  of  the  war  I  am  waging  against  a  woman  are 
ignorant  both  of  the  character  and  power  of  Zenobia.  It  is 
impossible  to  enumerate  her  warlike  preparations  of  stones,  of 
arrows,  and  of  every  species  of  missile  weapons  and  military 
engines." 

Aurelian,  in  fact,  became  doubtful  of  the  event  of  the  seige, 


30  ZENOBIA. 

and  he  offered  the  queen  the  most  honorable  terms  of  capitula- 
tion if  she  would  surrender  to  his  arms.  But  Zenobia,  who  was 
aware  that  famine  raged  in  the  Koman  camp,  and  daily  looked 
for  the  expected  relief,  rejected  his  proposals  in  a  famous  Greek 
epistle,  written  with  equal  arrogance  and  eloquence  ;  she  defied 
the  utmost  of  his  power  ;  and,  alluding  to  the  fate  of  Cleopatra, 
expressed  her  resolution  to  die  like  her  rather  than  yield  to  the 
Roman  arms.  Aurelian  was  incensed  by  this  haughty  letter, 
even  more  than  by  dangers  and  delays  attending  the  siege.  He 
redoubled  his  efforts — he  cut  off  the  succors  she  expected — he 
found  means  to  subsist  his  troops  even  in  the  midst  of  the  de- 
sert— every  day  added  to  the  number  and  strength  of  his  army — 
every  day  increased  the  difficulties  of  Zenobia,  and  the  despair 
of  the  Palmyrenes.  The  city  would  not  hold  out  much  longer, 
and  the  queen  resolved  to  fly,  not  to  insure  her  own  safety,  but 
to  bring  relief  to  the  capital.  Such  at  least  is  the  excuse  made 
for  part  of  her  conduct,  which  certainly  requires  apology. 
Mounted  on  a  fleet  dromedary  she  contrived  to  elude  the 
vigilance  of  the  besiegers,  and  took  the  road  to  the  Euphrates  ; 
but  she  was  pursued  by  a  party  of  the  Roman  light  cavalry, 
overtaken,  and  brought  as  a  captive  into  the  presence  of  Aure- 
lian. He  sternly  demanded  how  she  had  dared  to  oppose  the 
power  of  Rome  !  to  which  she  replied,  with  a  mixture  of  firm- 
ness and  gentleness,  "  Because  I  disdained  to  acknowledge  as 
my  masters  such  men  as  Aureolus  and  Grallienus.  To  Aurelian 
I  submit  as  my  conqueror  and  my  sovereign."  Aurelian  was 
not  displeased  at  the  artful  compliment  implied  in  this  answer  ; 
but  he  had  not  forgotten  the  insulting  arrogance  of  her  former 
reply.  While  this  conference  was  going  forward  in  the  tent  of 
the  Roman  emperor,  the  troops,  who  were  enraged  by  her  long 
and  obstinate  resistance,  and  all  they  had  suffered  during  the 


ZENOBIA.  31 


siege,  assembled  in  tumultuous  bands  calling  out  for  vengeance, 
and  with  loud  and  fierce  cries  demanding  her  instant  death.  The 
unhappy  queen,  surrounded  by  the  ferocious  and  insolent  sol- 
diery, forgot  all  her  former  vaunts  and  intrepidity.  Her  feminine 
terrors  had  perhaps  been  excusable  if  they  had  not  rendered 
her  base  ;  but  hi  her  first  panic  she  threw  herself  on  the  mercy 
of  the  emperor,  accused  her  ministers  as  the  cause  of  her  deter- 
mined resistance,  and  confessed  that  Longinus  had  written  in 
her  name  that  eloquent  letter  of  defiance  which  had  so  incensed 
the  emperor. 

Longinus,  with  the  rest  of  her  immediate  friends  and  counsel- 
ors, were  instantly  sacrificed  to  the  fury  of  the  soldiers  ;  and  the 
philosopher  met  death  with  all  the  fortitude  which  became  a  wise 
and  great  man,  employing  his  last  moments  in  endeavoring  to 
console  Zenobia  and  reconcile  her  to  her  fate. 

Palmyra  surrendered  to  the  conqueror,  who  seized  upon  the 
treasures  of  the  city,  but  spared  the  buildings  and  the  lives  of 
the  inhabitants.  Leaving  in  the  place  a  garrison  of  Romans,  he 
returned  to  Europe,  carrying  with  him  Zenobia  and  her  family, 
who  were  destined  to  grace  his  triumphs. 

But  scarcely  had  Aurelian  reached  the  Hellespont,  when 
tidings  were  brought  to  him  that  the  inhabitants  of  Palmyra 
had  again  revolted,  and  had  put  the  Roman  governor  and  garri- 
son to  the  sword.  Without  a  moment's  deliberation  the  em- 
peror turned  back,  reached  Palmyra  by  rapid  marches,  and  took 
a  terrible  vengeance  on  that  miserable  and  devoted  city.  He 
commanded  the  indiscriminate  massacre  of  all  the  inhabitants, 
men,  women,  and  children ; — fired  its  magnificent  edifices,  and 
leveled  its  walls  to  the  ground.  He  afterwards  repented  of  his 
fury,  and  devoted  a  part  of  the  captured  treasures  to  reinstate 
some  of  the  glories  he  had  destroyed  ;  but  it  was  too  late — he 


32  Z  E  N  O  B  I  A  . 

could  not  reanimate  the  dead,  nor  raise  from  its  ruins  the  stu- 
pendous Temple  of  the  Sun.  Palmyra  became  desolate ;  its 
very  existence  was  forgotten,  until  about  a  century  ago,  when 
some  English  travelers  discovered  it  by  accident.  Thus  the 
blind  fury  of  one  man  extinguished  life,  happiness,  industry,  art, 
and  intelligence,  through  a  vast  extent  of  country,  and  severed 
a  link  which  had  long  connected  the  eastern  and  western  con- 
tinents of  the  old  world. 

When  Aurelian  returned  to  Home  after  the  termination  of  this 
war,  he  celebrated  his  triumph  with  extraordinary  pomp.  A 
vast  number  of  elephants,  and  tigers,  and  strange  beasts  from 
the  conquered  countries  ;  sixteen  hundred  gladiators,  an  innum- 
erable train  of  captives,  and  a  gorgeous  display  of  treasures — 
gold,  silver,  gems,  plate,  glittering  raiment,  and  oriental  luxuries 
and  rarities,  the  rich  plunder  of  Palmyra,  were  exhibited  to  the 
populace.  But  every  eye  was  fixed  on  the  beautiful  and  majes- 
tic figure  of  the  Syrian  queen,  who  walked  in  the  procession 
before  her  own  sumptuous  chariot,  attired  in  her  diadem  and 
royal  robes,  blazing  with  jewels,  her  eyes  fixed  on  the  ground, 
and  her  delicate  form  drooping  under  the  weight  of  her  golden 
fetters,  which  were  so  heavy  that  two  slaves  were  obliged  to 
assist  in  supporting  them  on  either  side  ;  while  the  Roman  popu- 
lace, at  that  time  the  most  brutal  and  degraded  in  the  whole 
world,  gaped  and  stared  upon  her  misery,  and  shouted  in  exulta- 
tion over  her  fall.  Perhaps  Zenobia  may  in  that  moment  have 
thought  upon  Cleopatra,  whose  example  she  had  once  proposed 
to  follow  ;  and,  according  to  the  pagan  ideas  of  greatness  and 
fortitude,  envied  her  destiny,  and  felt  her  own  ignominy  with  all 
the  bitterness  of  a  vain  repentance. 

The  captivity  of  Zenobia  took  place  in  the  year  273,  and  in 
the  fifth  year  of  her  reign.  There  are  two  accounts  of  her  sub- 


ZENOBIA.  33 

sequent  fate,  differing  widely  from  each  other.  One  author 
asserts  that  she  starved  herself  to  death,  refusing  to  survive  her 
own  disgrace  and  the  ruin  of  her  country.  But  others  inform 
us  that  the  Emperor  Aurelian  bestowed  on  her  a  superb  villa  at 
Tivoli,  where  she  resided  in  great  honor,  and  that  she  was  after- 
wards united  to  a  Roman  senator,  with  whom  she  lived  many 
years.  Her  daughters  married  into  Roman  families,  and  it  is 
said  that  some  of  her  descendants  remained  so  late  as  the  fifth 
century. 

The"  three  sons  of  Zenobia  are  called  in  the  Latin  histories, 
Timolaus,  Herennicanus,  and  Yaballathus.  The  youngest  be- 
came king  of  part  of  Armenia ;  but  of  the  two  eldest  we 
have  no  account. 


o         c  e    . 


QUEEN    OF     THE    ICENI. 

THE  history  of  ancient  Rome  is  written  in  characters  of 
blood,  and  over  her  whole  wide-spread  empire,  from  the  Cale- 
donian hills  to  the  confines  of  India,  from  Torneo's  rock  to  the 
cataracts  of  the  Nile,  the  blood  of  slaughtered  hecatombs  of 
men,  women,  and  children,  has  saddened  the  earth.  Physical 
strength  was  her  standard  of  right,  and  by  that  standard  she 
measured  her  claims  to  every  country  of  the  globe,  wherever 
her  cohorts  could  gain  and  maintain  a  footing. 

Intellectual  Greece  bowed  to  her  yoke — the  islands  of  the 
Mediterranean  paid  her  homage — Carthage  fell  before  her 
power- — Iran  acknowledged  her  authority — Egypt  became  her 
tributary,  and  even  the  remote  Island  of  Britain  did  not  escape 
the  power  of  ambitious  Ceagar,  when  G-aul  lay  prostrate  at  his 
feet.  The  estuaries  of  Britain  were  filled  with  his  war-galleys, 
and  the  quiet  of  the  happy  island  was  broken  by  the  clangor  of 
Roman  arms.  A  peaceful  people,  unaccustomed  to  the  busi- 
ness of  war,  and  illy  armed,  the  Britons  made  but  feeble 
resistance  to  their  invaders,  and  soon  another  rich  territory  of 
earth  was  added  to  the  collossal  dominions  of  Rome.  The 
whole  island  became  subject  to  Roman  authority ;  the  country 
was  divided  into  states,  and  a  Roman  governor  was  appointed 
over  the  whole.  About  the  sixtieth  year  of  our  era,  Seutonius 
Paulinus,  one  of  the  greatest  generals  of  the  age,  was  appointed 
governor  of  Britain,  and  allowed  an  army  of  about  one  hundred 


38  BOADICEA. 


thousand  men  to  keep  the  natives  in  subjection.  The  infamous 
Nero  was  at  that  time  emperor  of  Rome,  and  Paulinus  was  a 
fit  instrument  to  execute  the  orders  of  his  master,  who  cared  not 
how  many  people  suffered,  if  his  unbounded  avarice  and  lust 
were  satisfied.  To  fill  the  coffers  of  the  emperor,  the  Britons 
were  subjected  to  the  most  cruel  taxation ;  and  those  who  but 
recently  were  in  the  full  enjoyment  of  peace  and  liberty,  were 
reduced  to  the  most  abject  slavery. 

But  the  inherent  principles  of  freedom,  actively  alive  in  the 
breast  of  the  Briton,  could  not  be  destroyed,  and  when  the 
oppressions  of  their  conquerors  became  too  severe  to  be  borne, 
they  raised  the  banner  of  revolt,  around  which  every  true 
Briton  rallied.  The  spirit  of  revolution,  prompted  by  a  love 
of  liberty,  and  keen  resentment  for  wrongs  inflicted,  which  had 
been  increasing  in  intensity  for  a  long  time,  broke  out  into  open 
rebellion,  at  a  time  when  Paulinus  was  absent  upon  the  Island 
of  Mona,  or  Anglesey.  A  peculiar  act  of  cruelty  on  the  part 
of  the  Romans,  was  the  immediate  cause  of  this  general  revolt ; 
and  to  that  act  and  its  consequences  we  devote  these  pages. 

Prasatugus,  king  of  Iceni,*  and  a  prince  much  beloved  for 
his  mildness  and  equity,  when  on  his  death-bed,  made  an  equal 
division  of  his  kingdom,  one-half  of  which  he  bequeathed  to  the 
Roman  emperor,  and  the  other  to  his  family.  The  reason  for 
making  this  bequest  to  the  emperor,  was  the  vain  hope,  that  it 
would  so  far  satisfy  his  rapacity,  as  to  secure  his  protection  for 
his  wife  and  children.  But  the  moment  that  the  death  of 
Prasatugus  came  to  the  ears  of  Paulinus,  he  sent  an  army  suf- 
ficient to  take  forcible  possession  of  the  whole  of  the  wealth  and 
the  kingdom  of  the  deceased  prince.  Against  this  unjust  act, 

*  This  State  included  that  portion  of  England  now  known  as  the  counties  of 
Norfolk,  Suffolk,  Cambridge  and  Huntingdon. 


BOADICEA.  39 


his,  queen  Boadicea,  a  woman  of  extraordinary  spirit,  warmly 
remonstrated ;  but  her  remonstrance  was  met  with  the  most 
brutal  treatment  from  the  minions  of  the  governor.  They  even 
went  so  far  as  to  scourge  her  publicly ;  and  not  content  with  this 
inhuman  injury  of  her  person,  those  brutal  men  ravished  her 
daughters  in  the  presence  of  the  queen. 

This  outrage  aroused  the  Iceni  to  revenge,  and  every  man 
took  a  solemn  oath  to  avenge  this  brutal  wrong  inflicted  upon 
their  queen  and  family.  The  Trinobantes  next  raised  the  war- 
cry,  and  in  every  part  of  the  island  where  the  injuries  of  the 
queen  of  the  Iceni  became  known,  the  indignant  Britons 
crowded  around  the  standard  of  revolt,  eager  for  the  blood  of 
the  Roman  barbarians. 

Carnelodunum  (London)  was  the  only  town  that  remained 
loyal ;  but  even  there  the  Romans  were  not  safe.  Throughout 
the  whole  island  an  indiscriminate  massacre  of  men,  women,  and 
children,  took  place  ;  and  in  one  instance  a  legion  of  the 
Roman  army,  attempting  to  stay  the  dreadful  retribution  of  the 
Iceni,  were  all  slaughtered  to  a  man.  In  London  the  revolters 
made  terrible  havoc.  The  Romans  in  great  numbers  fled  to  their 
principal  temple  for  protection,  but  it  was  set  on  fire,  and  with 
its  living  contents  entirely  consumed.  That  outrage  upon  the 
queen  of  the  Iceni,  cost  Rome  eighty  thousand  of  her  citizens. 

As  soon  as  Paulinus  heard  of  this  revolt,  he  left  Mona,  and 
hastened  to  the  assistance  of  his  people.  This  the  Britons  ex- 
pected ;  and  the  armies  of  the  several  states  were  combined,  and, 
by  unanimous  consent,  Boadicea  was  chosen  commander-in- 
chief.  The  combined  army  of  the  Britons  amounted  to  one 
hundred  thousand  men,  while  Paulinus  could  muster  only  about 
ten  thousand.  Alarmed  at  his  comparatively  weak  condition, 
and  the  numerical  strength  of  the  revolters,  the  Roman  general 


40  BOADICEA. 


was  perplexed  to  know  what  course  to  take.  First  he  resolved 
to  shut  himself  up  in  London,  and  bide  the  issue  of  a  siege  ; 
but  when  he  found  the  triumphant  enemy  marching  toward  the 
capital,  he  resolved  to  conquer  them  or  die.  The  inhabitants 
of  London  begged  him  to  remain  in  their  defence,  but  he 
yielded  to  the  solicitations  of  his  soldiers,  and  the  dictates  of  his 
own  judgment,  and  resolved  to  do  battle  with  the  enemy. 

The  Roman  army  marched  out  into  the  open  country  and 
awaited  the  approach  of  the  Britons.  They  chose  for  their 
camp  a  narrow  strip  of  land,  with  a  dense  forest  in  the  rear, 
while  before  them  was  spread  out  a  spacious  plain. 

On  this  plain  the  host  of  Boadicea  encamped,  now  numbering, 
(including  the  women  and  children  who  had  been  invited  by  the 
soldier-queen  to  witness  the  contest  and  share  in  the  spoils  of 
the  undoubted  victory,)  two  hundred  and  thirty  thousand. 
Boadicea,  still  stung  with  the  wrongs  she  had  suffered,  was 
eager  to  engage  with  Paulinus.  With  her  daughters  beside  her, 
in  a  war-chariot,  she  traversed  the  ranks  of  the  Britons,  in- 
flaming their  zeal  for  her  cause,  and  animating  them  with 
courage,  by  passionate  addresses. 

The  description  of  her  dress  and  appearance,  on  the  morning 
of  the  battle  that  ended  so  disastrously  for  the  royal  amazon 
and  her  country,  quoted  from  a  Roman  historian,  is-remarkably 
picturesque  : — 

"  After  she  had  dismounted  from  her  chariot,  in  which  she 
had  been  driving  from  rank  to  rank  to  encourage  her  troops, 
attended  by  her  daughters  and  her  numerous  army,  she  pro- 
ceeded to  a  throne  of  marshy  turfs,  appareled  after  the  fashion 
of  the  Romans,  in  a  loose  gown  of  changeable  colors,  under 
which  she  wore  a  kirtle  very  thickly  plaited,  the  tresses  of  her 
yellow  hair  hanging  to  the  skirts  of  her  dress.  About  her  neck 


B  O  A  D  I  C  E  A  .  41 


she  wore  a  chain  of  gold,  and  bore  a  light  spear  in  her  hand, 
being  tall,  and  of  a  comely,  cheerful,  and  modest  countenance ; 
and  so  awhile  she  stood,  pausing  to  survey  her  army,  and  being 
regarded  with  reverential  silence,  she  addressed  to  them  an  im- 
passioned and  eloquent  speech  on  the  wrongs  of  her  country." 

"  This  is  not  the  first  time,"  cried  she,  "  that  Britons  have 
been  victorious  under  their  queen.  I  come  not  here  as  one 
descended  from  royal  progenitors,  to  fight  for  empire  or  riches, 
but  as  one  of  you — as  a  true  Briton — to  avenge  the  loss  of 
liberty,  the  wrongs  done  to  my  own  person,  and  the  base  viola- 
tion of  the  chastity  of  my  daughters.  Roman  lust  has  grown  so 
strong,  that  nothing  escapes  its  pollution  ;  old  and  young  are 
alike  liable  to  its  outrages.  The  gods  have  already  begun  to 
punish  them  according  to  their  deserts.  One  legion  that  durst 
hazard  a  battle,  was  cut  in  pieces,  and  others  have  fled  like 
cowards  before  us.  Raise  loud  your  war-shout,  and  their  fears 
will  make  them  flee.  Consider  your  numbers  and  your  motives 
for  the  war,  and  resolve  to  conquer  or  die.  It  is  better  to  fall 
honorably  in  defence  of  liberty,  than  to  submit  to  Roman  out- 
rage. Such,  is  my  resolution  ;  but,  ye  men,  if  ye  choose,  live 
and  be  slaves  !" 

When  the  brave  queen  had  concluded  her  harangue,  a  loud 
shout  ran  along  the  lines  of  the  British  army,  and  exclamations 
of  loyalty  were  heard  on  every  side 

But  while  these  demonstrations  denoted  confidence  of  victory 
on  the  part  of  the  Britons,  Paulinus  was  unawed,  and  by  forci- 
ble appeals  to  his  soldiers,  he  raised  their  hopes  and  courage  to 
the  highest  pitch.  He  pointed  to  the  multitude  of  Britons,  as 
a  handful  of  men  and  immense  numbers  of  women  and  chil- 
dren ;  he  exorted  them  to  believe  the  Britons  to  be  cowards — 
charged  them  to  keep  close  together  so  as  to  advance  in  an 


42  BOADICEA. 


unbroken  phalanx,  and  to  fight  sword  in  hand,  after  they  had 
thrown  their  darts. 

Then,  ordering  a  charge  to  be  sounded,  the  Romans  advanced 
in  a  solid  column,  hurled  their  javelins  with  terrible  effect,  with 
•desperate  power  broke  into  the  ranks  of  the  Britons,  and  with 
sword  in  hand  spread  death  and  desolation  in  their  path.  Such 
an  unexpected  and  fierce  onslaught,  struck  terror  to  the  island- 
ers, for  they  supposed  the  Romans  would  be  awed  by  their 
numbers  ;  and  it  was  in  vain  that  Boadicea  encouraged  them  to 
repel  the  attack.  They  fled  in  dismay  in  every  direction.  The 
women  and  children  were  exposed  to  the  fury  of  the  Romans ; 
neither  age  nor  sex,  nor  even  horses  were  spared  ;  and  when 
the  sun  set  upon  Britain  that  night,  more  than  seventy  thousand 
of  her  children  lay  dead  upon  that  battle-field.  Boadicea  and 
her  daughters  narrowly  escaped  falling  into  the  hands  of  the 
conquerors  ;  but,  stung  with  remorse  and  despair  at  her  ac- 
cumulated misfortunes,  she  took  poison,  and  died. 

Such,  in  brief,  is  a  romantic  chapter  of  the  early  history  of 
Britain,  and  in  it  are  shadowed  forth  many  of  the  bolder  fea- 
tures of  the  human  character, — the  tyranny  of  uncontrolled 
power,  ambition,  avarice,  cruelty,  lust ;  the  generous  heroism  of 
woman,  the  strength  of  innate  principles  of  freedom,  the  mean- 
ness of  cowardice,  and  the  suicidal  tendency  of  misfortune  and 
despair.  And  such  are  the  leading  features  in  almost  every 
chapter  of  the  world's  history,  where  states  and  empires  have 
changed  masters.  The  record  of  the  political  progress  of 
nations,  is  a  wonderful  romance,  where  truth  and  fable  are  com- 
bined in  presenting  to  generation  after  generation,  an  entertain- 
ing volume  for  amusement  and  instruction  ;  and,  doubtless, 
Byron  was  not  wide  of  the  mark,  when  he  denominated  all 
history,  "  a  splendid  fiction." 


THE    QUEEN    OF    RICHARD    I. 

BERENGARIA,  the  beautiful  daughter  of  Sancho  the  Wise,  King 
of  Navarre,  was  first  seen  by  Richard  Coaur  de  Lion,  at  a  grand 
tournament  given  by  her  gallant  brother,  at  Pampeluna,  her 
native  city.  Richard  was  then  captivated  by  the  beauty  of 
Berengaria,  but  his  engagement  to  the  fair  and  frail  Alice  of 
France  prevented  him  from  offering  her  his  hand. 

Berengaria  may  be  considered  a  Provengal  princess,  by  lan- 
guage and  education,  though  she  was  Spanish  by  descent.  Her 
mighty  sire,  Sancho  the  Wise,  had  for  his  immediate  ancestor 
Sancho  the  Great,  called  the  Emperor  of  all  Spain.  He  in- 
herited the  little  kingdom  of  Navarre,  and  married  Beatrice, 
daughter  to  Alphonso,  King  of  Castille,  by  whom  he  had  three 
children,  Berengaria,  Blanche,  and  Sancho,  surnamed  the 
Strong,  a  hero  celebrated  by  the  Provengal  poets  for  his  gallant 
exploits  against  the  Moors.  He  defeated  the  Miramolin,  and 
broke  the  chains  that  guarded  the  camp  of  the  infidel  with  his 
battle-axe,  which  chains  were  afterwards  transferred  to  the 
armorial  bearings  of  Navarre. 

An  ardent  friendship  had  subsisted  from  boyhood  between 
Richard  and  Sancho  the  Strong,  the  gallant  brother  of  Beren- 
garia. A  similarity  of  pursuits  strengthened  the  intimacy  of 
Richard  with  the  royal  family  of  Navarre.  The  father  and 
brother  of  Berengaria  were  celebrated  for  their  skill  and  judg- 
ment in  Provencal  poetry.  Berengaria  was  herself  a  learned 


46  BERENGARIA     OF     NAVARRE. 

princess ;  and  Richard,  who  was  not  only  a  troubadour  poet, 
but,  as  acting  sovereign  of  Aquitaine,  was  the  prince  and  judge 
of  all  troubadours,  became  naturally  drawn  into  close  bonds  of 
amity  with  a  family,  whose  tastes  and  pursuits  were  similar  to 
his  own. 

No  one  can  marvel  that  the  love  of  the  ardent  Richard  should 
be  strengthened  when  he  met  the  beautiful,  the  cultivated,  and 
virtuous  Berengaria,  in  the  familiar  intercourse  which  sprang 
from  his  friendship  with  her  gallant  brother  ;  but  a  long  and 
secret  engagement,  replete  with  "  hope  deferred,"  was  the  fate 
of  Richard  the  Lion-hearted  and  the  fair  flower  of  Navarre. 

Our  early  historians  first  mention  the  attachment  of  Richard 
and  Berengaria  about  the  year  1177.  If  we  take  that  event 
for  a  datum,  even  allowing  the  princess  to  have  been  very  young 
when  she  attracted  the  love  of  Richard,  she  must  have  been 
twenty-six  at  least  before  the  death  of  his  father  placed  him  at 
liberty  to  demand  her  hand.  Richard  had  another  motive  for 
his  extreme  desire  for  this  alliance  ;  he  considered  that  this  be- 
loved mother,  Queen  Eleanora,  was  deeply  indebted  to  King 
Sancho,  the  father  of  Berengaria,  because  he  had  pleaded  her 
cause  with  Henry  II.,  and  obtained  some  amelioration  of  her 
imprisonment. 

Soon  after  Richard  ascended  the  English  throne  he  sent  his 
mother,  Queen  Eleanora,  to  the  court  of  her  friend,  Sancho  the 
Wise,  to  demand  the  Princess  Berengaria  in  marriage,  "for," 
says  Vinisauf,  "he  had  long  loved  the  elegant  girl."  Sancho 
the  Wise  not  only  received  the  proposition  with  joy,  but  in- 
trusted Berengaria  to  the  care  of  Queen  Eleanora.  The  royal 
ladies  traveled  from  the  court  of  Navarre  together,  across  Italy 
to  Naples,  where  they  found  the  ships  belonging  to  Eleanora 
had  arrived  in  the  bay.  But  etiquette  forbade  Berengaria  to 


BERENGARIA     OF     NAVARRE.  47 

approach  her  lover  till  he  was  free  from  the  claims  of  Alice  ; 
therefore  she  sojourned  with  Queen  Eleanora  at  Brindisi,  in  the 
spring  of  1191,  waiting  the  message  from  King  Richard,  an- 
nouncing that  he  was  free  to  receive  the  hand  of  the  Princess 
of  Navarre. 

It  was  at  Messina  that  the  question  of  the  engagement  be- 
tween the  Princess  Alice  and  King  of  England  was  debated 
with  Philip  Augustus,  her  brother  ;  and  more  than  once,  the 
potentates  assembled,  for  the  crusade  expected  that  the  forces 
of  France  and  England  would  be  called  into  action,  to  decide 
the  right  of  King  Richard  to  give  his  hand  to  another  lady  than 
the  sister  of  the  King  of  France. 

The  rhymes  of  Piers  of  Langtoft,  recapitulate  these  events 
with  brevity  and  quaintness  : — 

"  Then  spake  King  Philip, 
And  in  grief  said, 

'  My  sister  Alice 
Is  now  forsaken, 

Since  one  of  more  riches 
Of  Navarre  hast  thou  taken.' 
,  .  When  King  Richard  understood 

What  King  Philip  had  sworn,  . 

Before  clergy  he  stood, 
And  proved  on  that  morn, 

That  Alice  to  his  father 
A  child  had  borne, 

Which  his  sire  King  Henry 
Held  for  his  own. 

A  maiden  child  it  was, 
And  now  dead  it  is. 

'  This  was  a  great  trespass, 
And  against  my  own  witte, 

If  I  Alice  take.'  " 


48  BERENGARIA     OF     NAVARRE. 

King  Philip  then  contends  that  Richard  held  in  hard  his 
sister's  dower,  the  good  city  of  Gisors.  Upon  this,  the 
King  of  England  brings  the  matter  to  a  conclusion  in  these 
words : — 


"  Now,  said  King  Richard, 

That  menace  may  not  be, 
For  thou  shall  have  ward 

Of  Gisors  thy  cite"e, 
And  treasure  ilk  a  deal. 

Richard  yielded  him  his  right, 
His  treasure  and  his  town, 

Before  witness  at  sight, 
(Of  clerk  and  eke  baron,) 

His  sister  he  might  marry, 
Wherever  God  might  like, 

And,  to  make  certainty, 
Richard  a  quittance  took." 


The  French  contemporary  chroniclers,  who  are  exceedingly 
indignant  at  the  repudiation  of  their  princess,  attribute  it  solely 
to  Eleanora's  influence.  Bernard,  the  treasurer,  says,  "  The 
old  queen  could  not  endure  that  Richard  should  espouse  Alice, 
but  demanded  the  sister  of  the  King  of  Navarre  for  a  wife  for 
her  son.  At  this  the  King  of  Navarre  was  right  joyful,  and  she 
traveled  with  Queen  Eleanora  to  Messina.  When  she  arrived 
Richard  was  absent,  but  Queen  Joanna  was  there,  preparing 
herself  to  embark  next  day.  The  Queen  of  England  could  not 
tarry,  but  said  to  Joanna — '  Fair  daughter,  take  this  damsel  for 
me  to  the  king  your  brother,  and  tell  him  I  command  him  to 
espouse  her  speedily.'  Joanna  received  her  willingly,  and 
Eleanora  returned  to  France." 


BERENGARIA     OF     NAVARRE.  49 

Piers  of  Langtoft  resumes  : — 

"  She  be  left  Berengere, 

At  Richard's  cottage, 
Queen  Joanne  held  her  dear  ; 
They  lived  as  doves  in  cage." 

King  Richard  and  King  Tancred  were  absent  on  a  pilgrimage 
to  the  shrine  of  St.  Agatha  at  Catania,  where  Tancred  must 
have  devoutly  prayed  for  the  riddance  of  his  guest.  Richard 
here  presented  the  Sicilian  king  with  a  famous  sword,  pretend- 
ing it  was  Caliburn,  the  brand  of  King  Arthur,  lately  found  at 
Glastonbury,  during  his  father's  antiquarian  researches  for  the 
tomb  of  that  king. 

Richard  then  embarked  in  his  favorite  galley,  named  by  him 
Trenc-the-mere.*  He  had  previously,  in  honor  of  his  betroth- 
ment,  instituted  an  order  of  twenty-four  knights,  who  pledged 
themselves  in  a  fraternity  with  the  king  to  scale  the  walls  of 
Acre  ;  and  that  they  might  be  known  in  the  storming  of  that 
city,  the  king  appointed  them  to  wear  a  blue  band  of  leather 
on  the  left  leg,  from  which  they  were  called  Knights  of  the 
Blue  Thong. 

The  season  of  Lent  prevented  the  immediate  marriage  of 
Richard  and  his  betrothed  ;  and,  as  etiquette  did  not  permit 
the  unwedded  maiden,  Berengaria,  to  embark  in  the  Trenc-the- 
mere  under  the  immediate  protection  of  her  lover,  she  sailed  in 
company  with  Queen  Joanna,  in  one  of  the  strongest  ships, 
under  the  care  of  a  brave  knight,  called  Stephen  de  Turnham. 

After  these  arrangements  Richard  led  the  van  of  the  fleet  in 
Trenc-the-mere,  bearing  a  huge  lantern  at  her  poop,  to  rally 

*  Literally  meaning,  cut-the-sta. 


50  BERENGARIA     OF     NAVARRE. 

the  fleet  in  the  darkness  of  night.  Thus,  with  a  hundred  and 
fifty  ships  and  fifty  galleys,  did  Lion-hearted  Richard  and  his 
bride  and  sister,  hoist  sail  for  Palestine,  where  Philip  Augustus 
had  already  indolently  commenced  the  siege  of  Acre. 

"  Syrian  virgins  wail  and  weep, 
English  Richard  ploughs  the  deep." 

But  we  must  turn  a  deaf  ear  to  the  bewitching  metre  of  po- 
lished verse,  and  quote  details  taken  by  Piers  of  Langtoft  from 
the  Provencal  comrade  of  Richard  and  Berengaria's  crusade 
voyage  : — 

"  Till  King  Richard  be  forward, 

He  may  have  no  rest, 
Acres  then  is  his  tryste, 

Upon  Saracen  fiends, 
To  venge  Jesu  Christ, 

Hitherward  he  wends. 
The  king's  sister  Joanne, 

And  Lady  Berengare, 
Foremost  sailed  of  ilk  one  ; 

Next  them  his  chancellor 
Roger  Mancel. 

The  chancellor  so  hight, 
His  tide  fell  not  well ; 

A  tempest  on  him  light, 
His  ship  was  down  borne, 

Himself  there  to  die  ; 
The  king's  seal  was  lost, 

With  other  gallies  tway. 
Lady  Joanna  she 

The  Lord  Jesu  besought, 
In  Cyprus  she  might  be 

To  haven  quickly  brought, 


BERENGARIA     OF     NAVARRE.  51 

The  maiden  Berengare, 

She  was  sore  afright, 
That  neither  far  nor  near, 

Her  king  rode  in  sight." 

Queen  Joanna  was  alarmed  for  herself ;  but  the  maiden  Be- 
rengaria  only  thought  of  Richard's  safety. 

Bernard,  the  treasurer,  does  not  allow  that  Joanna  was  quite 
so  much  frightened.  We  translate  his  words  : — "  Queen  Jo- 
anna's galley  sheltered  in  the  harbor  of  Limoussa,  when  Isaac, 
the  Lord  of  Cyprus,  sent  two  boats,  and  demanded  if  the  queen 
would  land.  She  declined  the  offer,  saying,  '  All  she  wanted 
was  to  know  whether  the  King  of  England  had  passed.'  They 
replied,  '  They  did  not  know.'  At  that  juncture  Isaac  ap- 
proached with  a  great  power,  upon  which  the  cavaliers,  who 
guarded  the  royal  ladies,  got  the  galley  in  order  to  be  rowed 
out  of  the  harbor  at  the  first  indication  of  hostility.  Meantime 
Isaac,  who  saw  Berengaria  on  board,  demanded,  '  What  damsel 
that  was  with  them  ?'  They  declared,  '  She  was  the  sister  of 
the  King  of  Navarre,  whom  the  King  of  England's  mother  had 
brought  for  him  to  espouse.'  Isaac  seemed  so  angry  at  this 
intelligence,  that  Stephen  de  Tiirnham  gave  signal  to  heave  up 
the  anchor,  and  the  queen's  galley  rowed  with  all  speed  into  the 


When  the  gale  had  somewhat  abated,  King  Richard,  after 
mustering  his  navy,  found  not  only  that  the  ship  was  missing, 
wherein  were  drowned  both  the  chancellor  of  England  and  the 
great  seal,  but  the  galley  that  bore  the  precious  freight  of  his 
sister  and  his  bride.  He  immediately  sailed  from  a  friendly 
Cretan  harbor  in  search  of  his  lost  ships.  When  arrived  off 
Cyprus,  he  entered  the  bay  of  Famagusta,  and  beheld  the  galley 


52  BERENGARIA     OF     NAVARRE. 

that  contained  his  princesses,  laboring  heavily  and  tossing  in  the 
offing.  He  became  infuriated  with  the  thought  that  some  wrong 
had  been  offered  to  them,  and  leaped,  armed  as  he  was,  into 
the  first  boat  that  could  be  prepared.  His  anger  increased  on 
learning  that  the  queen's  galley  had  put  into  the  bay  in  the 
storm,  but  had  been  driven  inhospitably  from  shelter  by  the 
threats  of  the  Greek  despot.* 

At  the  time  of  Richard's  landing,  Isaac  and  all  his  islanders 
were  busily  employed  in  plundering  the  wreck  of  the  chancellor's 
ship  and  two  English  transports,  then  stranded  on  the  Cypriot 
shore.  As  this  self-styled  emperor,  though  in  behavior  worse 
than  a  pagan,  professed  to  be  a  Christian,  Richard,  at  his  first 
landing,  sent  him  a  civil  message,  suggesting  the  propriety  of 
leaving  off  plundering  his  wrecks.  To  this  Isaac  returned  an 
impertinent  answer,  saying,  "  that  whatever  goods  the  sea  threw 
on  his  island  he  should  take,  without  asking  any  one." 

"  They  shall  be  bought  full  dear,  by  Jesu,  heaven's  king !" 

With  this  saying,  Richard,  battle-axe  in  hand,  led  his  cru- 
saders so  boldly  to  the  rescue,  that  the  mock  emperor  and  his 
Cypriots  scampered  into  Limoussa,  the  capital  of  the  island, 
much  faster  than  they  had  left  it. 

Freed  from  the  presence  of  the  inhospitable  despot,  King 
Richard  made  signals  for  Joanna's  galley  to  enter  the  harbor. 
Berengaria,  half  dead  with  fatigue  and  terror,  was  welcomed  on 
shore  by  the  conquering  king,  "when,"  says  the  chronicler, 
"  there  was  joy  and  love  enow." 

As  soon  as  Isaac  Comnenus  was  safe  behind  the  walls  of  his 
citadel,  he  sent  a  message  to  request  a  conference  with  King 
Richard,  who  expected  he  had  a  little  lowered  the  despot's 

•  Dtirot  wag  a  title  given  to  the  petty  Greek  potentates. 


BERENGARIA     OF     NAVARRE.  53 

pride ;  but  when  they  met,  Isaac  was  so  full  of  vaporing  and 
boasting,  that  he  elicited  from  King  Richard  an  aside  in  Eng- 
lish ;  and  as  Coeur  de  Lion  then  uttered  the  only  words  in  our 
language  he  ever  was  known  to  speak,  it  is  well  they  have  been 
recorded  by  chronicle  : — 

"  Ha !  de  debil !"  exclaimed  King  Richard,  "  he  speak  like  a 
fole  Breton."* 

As  Isaac  and  Richard  could  not  come  to  any  terms  of  pacifi- 
cation, the  despot  retreated  to  a  strong-hold  in  a  neighboring 
mountain  ;  while  Richard,  after  making  a  speech  to  the  Lon- 
doners, (we  hope  in  more  choice  English  than  the  above),  insti- 
gating them  to  the  storm  of  the  Cypriot  capital  with  promise  of 
plunder,  led  them  on  to  the  attack,  axe  in  hand.  The  London- 
ers easily  captured  Limoussa. 

Directly  the  coast  was  clear  of  Isaac  and  his  myrmidons; 
magnificent  preparations  were  made  at  Limoussa  for  the  nuptials 
and  coronation  of  King  Richard  and  Berengaria.  "VVe  are  able 
to  describe  the  appearance  made  by  these  royal  personages  at 
this  high  solemnity.  King  Richard's  costume,  we  may  suppose, 
varied  little  from  that  in  which  he  gave  audience  to  the  despot 
Isaac,  a  day  after  the  marriage  took  place. 

"  A  satin  tunic  of  rose-color  was  belted  round  his  waist — his 
mantle  was  of  striped  silver  tissue,  brocaded  with  silver  half- 
moons — his  sword  of  fine  Damascus  steel,  had  a  hilt  of  gold,  and 
a  silver-scaled  sheath — on  his  head  he  wore  a  scarlet  bonnet, 
brocaded  in  gold,  with  figures  of  animals.  He  bore  a  truncheon 
in  his  hand.  His  Spanish  steed  was  led  before  him,  saddled, 

*  This  speech  implied  no  oflence  to  the  English,  but  was  meant  as  a  reproach  to 
the  Bretons,  who  are  to  this  day  proverbial  in  France  for  their  willfulness.  Besides, 
llichard  was  bitter  against  the  Bretons,  who  deprived  him  of  the  society  of  hia 
then  acknowledged  heir,  Arthur,  their  duke. — (Vinisauf.) 


54  BERENGARIA     OF     NAVARRE. 

and  bitted  with  gold,  and  the  saddle  was  inlaid  with  precious 
stones.  Two  little  golden  lions  were  fixed  on  it,  in  the  place 
of  a  crupper.  They  were  figured  with  their  paws  raised  in  act 
to  strike  each  other."  In  this  attire,  Vinisauf  adds,  Richard, 
who  had  yellow  curls,  a  bright  complexion,  and  a  figure  like 
Mars  himself,  appeared  a  perfect  model  of  military  and  manly 
grace. 

The  effigy  of  Queen  Berengaria  at  Espan  certainly  presents 
her  as  a  bride — a  circumstance  which  is  ascertained  by  the  flow- 
ing tresses — royal  matrons  always  wearing  their  hair  covered,  or 
else  closely  braided. 

Her  hah-  is  parted,  a  la  vierge,  on  the  brow ;  a  transparent 
veil,  open  on  each  side,  like  the  Spanish  mantillas,  hangs  behind, 
and  covers  the  rich  tresses  at  their  length.  The  veil  is  confined 
by  a  regal  diadem  of  peculiar  splendor,  studded  with  several 
bands  of  gems,  and  surmounted  by  fleurs-de-lis,  to  which  so  much 
foliage  is  added  as  to  give  it  the  appearance  of  a  double  crown, 
perhaps  because  she  was  crowned  queen  of  Cyprus  as  well  as 
England.  Our  antiquarians  affirm,  that  the  peculiar  character 
of  Berengaria's  elegant  but  singular  style  of  beauty  brings  con- 
viction to  every  one  who  looks  on  her  effigy  that  it  is  a  care- 
fully finished  portrait. 

At  his  marriage  King  Richard  proclaimed  a  grand  feast. 

"  To  Limoussa  the  lady  was  led, 
His  feast  the  king  did  cry, 
Berengere  will  be  wed, 
And  sojourn  thereby 
The  third  day  of  the  feast ; 
Bishop  Bernard  of  Bayone 
Newed  oft  the  geste 
To  the  queen  he  gave  the  crown." 


BERENGARIA     OF     NAVARRE.  55 

"  And  there,  in  the  joyous  month  of  May,  1191,"  says  an 
ancient  writer,  "  in  the  flourishing  and  spacious  isle  of  Cyprus, 
celebrated  as  the  very  abode  of  the  goddess  of  love,  did  King 
Richard  solemnly  take  to  wife  his  beloved  lady  Berengaria.  By 
the  consent  of  the  Cypriots,  wearied  of  Isaac's  tyranny,  and  by 
the  advice  of  the  allied  crusaders,  who  came  to  assist  at  his 
nuptials,  Richard  was  crowned  King  of  Cyprus,  and  his  bride 
Queen  of  England  and  Cyprus. 

Soon  after,  the  fair  heiress  of  Cyprus,  daughter  to  the  despot 
Isaac,  came  and  threw  herself  at  the  feet  of  Richard.  "  Lord 
King,"  she  said,  "  have  mercy  on  me  ;"  when  the  king  courte- 
ously put  forth  his  hand  to  lift  her  from  the  ground,  and  sent 
her  to  his  wife  and  his  sister  Joanna.  As  many  historical  scan- 
dals are  afloat  respecting  the  Cypriot  princess,  implying  that 
Richard,  captivated  by  the  distressed  beauty,  from  that  moment 
forsook  his  queen,  it  is  well  to  observe  the  words  of  an  eye-wit- 
ness, who  declares  that  Richard  sent  the  lady  directly  to  his 
queen,  from  whom  she  never  parted  till  after  their  return  to 
Europe. 

The  surrender  of  the  Cypriot  princess  was  followed  by  the 
capture  of  her  father,  whom  the  King  of  England  bound  in  sil- 
ver chains  richly  guilt,  and  presented  to  Queen  Berengaria  as 
her  captive.* 

After  the  conclusion  of  the  nuptials  and  coronation  of  Beren- 
garia, her  royal  bridegroom  once  more  hoisted  his  flag  on  his 
good  galley  Trenc-the-mere,  and  set  sail  in  beautiful  summer 
weather  for  Palestine.  Berengaria  and  her  sister-in-law  again 

*  Isaac  afterwards  entered  among  the  Templars,  and  in  their  order  died.  Richard 
presented  his  island  to  Guy  do  Lusignan,  his  friend,  as  a  compenaatiou  for  the  loss 
of  Jerusalem.  This  dethronement  of  Isaac,  and  the  captivity  of  his  daughter,  were 
the  origin  of  Richard's  imprisonment  in  Germany,  as  we  shall  presently  see. 


56  BERENGARIA     OF     NAVARRE. 

sailed  under  the  protection  of  Sir  Stephen  de  Turnham,  it  being 
safer  than  companionship  with  the  warlike  Kichard.  Their 
galley  made  the  port  of  Acre  before  the  Trenc-the-mere. 

"  On  their  arrival  at  Acre,  though,"  says  Bernard  le  Treso- 
rier,  "  it  was  very  grievous  to  the  king  of  France  to  know  that 
Richard  was  married  to  any  other  than  his  sister ;  yet  he  re- 
ceived Ber.engaria  with  great  courtesy,  taking  her  in  his  arms, 
and  lifting  her  on  shore  himself  from  the  boat  to  the  beach." 

Richard  appeared  before  Acre  on  the  long  bright  day  of  St. 
Barnabas,  when  the  whole  allied  army,  elated  by  the  naval  vic- 
tory he  had  won  by  the  way,  marched  to  the  beach  to  welcome 
their  champion.  "  The  earth  shook  with  footsteps  of  the  Chris- 
tians, and  the  sound  of  their  shouts." 

When  Acre  was  taken,  Richard  established  his  queen  and 
sister  safely  there.  They  remained  at  Acre  with  the  Cypriot 
princess,  during  the  whole  of  the  Syrian  campaign,  under  the 
care  of  Richard's  Castellans,  Bertrand  de  Verbun  and  Stephen 
de  Munchenis. 

To  the  left  of  the  mosque  at  Acre  are  the  ruins  of  a  palace, 
called,  to  this  day,  King  Richard's  Palace.*  This  was  doubtless 
the  abode  of  Berengaria 

There  is  not  a  more  pleasant  spot  in  history  than  the  tender 
friendship  of  Berengaria  and  Joanna,  who  formed  an  attachment 
amidst  the  perils  and  terrors  of  storm  and  siege,  ending  only 
with  their  lives.  How  quaintly,  yet  expressively,  is  their  gentle 
and  feminine  love  for  each  other  marked  by  the  sweet  simplicity 
of  the  words, 

"  They  held  each  other  dear, 
And  lived  like  doves  in  cage !" 

•  Dr.  Clarke'i  Travel,.    The  tradition  i.  that  Richard  built  the  Palace  ;  but  he 
»  time  for  any  ,uch  work.     Thi,  architecture  is  Saracenic,  and  was  doubt- 
fc««  a  palace  of  the  reiident  emir  of  Acre. 


BERENGARIA     OF     NAVARRE.  57 

noting,  at  the  same  time,  the  harem-like  seclusion  in  which  the 
royal  ladies  dwelt,  while  sharing  the  crusade  campaign. 

It  was  from  the  citadel  of  Acre  that  Richard  tore  down  the 
banner  of  Leopold,  archduke  of  Austria,  who  was  the  uncle  of 
the  Cypriot  lady.  Her  captivity  was  the  real  matter  of  dispute. 

We  have  little  space  to  dwell  on  Richard's  deeds  of  romantic 
valor  in  Palestine,  on  the  capture  of  Ascalon,  or  the  battle  of 
Jaffa,  before  which  city  was  killed  Richard's  good  steed,  named 
Fanuelle,  whose  feats  in  battle  are  nearly  as  much  celebrated  by 
the  troubadours  as  those  of  his  master.* 

After  the  death  of  Fanuelle,  Richard  was  obliged  to  fight  on 
foot.  The  courteous  Saladin,  who  saw  him  thus  battling,  was 
shocked  that  so  accomplished  a  cavalier  should  be  dismounted, 
and  sent  him  as  a  present  a  magnificent  Arab  charger.  Richard 
had  the  precaution  to  order  one  of  his  knights  to  mount  the 
charger  first.  The  headstrong  beast  no  sooner  found  a  stranger 
on  his  back,  than  he  took  the  bit  between  his  teeth,  and,  refusing 
all  control,  galloped  back  to  his  own  quarters,  carrying  the  Chris- 
tian knight  into  the  midst  of  Saladin 's  camp.  If  King  Richard 
had  ridden  the  wilful  animal,  he  would  in  like  manner  have 
been  at  the  mercy  of  the  Saracens  ;  and  Saladin  was  so  much 
ashamed  of  the  misbehavior  of  his  present,  that  he  could  scarcely 
look  up  while  he  apologized  to  the  Christian  knight ;  for  it  ap- 
peared as  if  he  had  laid  a  trap  for  the  liberty  of  King  Richard. 
He  sent  back  the  knight,  mounted  on  a  more  manageable  steed, 
on  which  Richard  rode  to  the  end  of  the  campaign. 

King  Richard,  during  his  Syrian  campaign,  was  once  within 

*  By  some  called  Favelle,  probably  Flavel,  meaning  yellow-colored.  Vinisauf 
declares  this  peerless  charger  was  taken  among  the  spoils  of  Cyprus,  with  another 
named  Lyard.  The  cavaliers  in  ancient  times  named  their  steeds  from  their  color, 
as  Bayard,  bay-color ;  Lyard,  gray  ;  Ferraunt,  black  as  iron  ;  Flavel,  yellow,  or  very 
light  sorrel. 


58  BERENGARIA     OF    NAVARRE. 

sight  of  Jerusalem,  but  never  took  it.  While  he  was  with  his 
queen,  Berengaria,  at  Acre,  an  incident  befell  him,  of  which  de 
Joinville,  the  companion  in  arms  of  St.  Louis,  has  thus  pre- 
served the  memory  : — 

u  In  those  times,  when  Hugh,  Duke  of  Burgundy,  and  King 
Ilk-hard  of  England,  were  abiding  at  Acre,  they  received  intelli- 
gence that  they  might  take  Jerusalem  if  they  chose,  for  its  gar- 
rison had  gone  to  the  assistance  of  Damascus.  The  Duke  of 
Burgundy  and  King  Richard  accordingly  marched  towards  the 
holy  city,  King  Richard's  battalions  leading  the  way,  while 
Burgundy's  force  brought  up  the  rear.  But  when  King 
Richard  drew  near  to  Jerusalem,  intelligence  was  brought  him 
that  the  Duke  of  Burgundy  had  turned  back  with  his  division, 
out  of  pure  envy,  that  it  might  not  be  said  that  the  King  of 
England  had  taken  Jerusalem.  As  these  tidings  were  dis- 
cussing, one  of  the  King  of  England's  knights  cried  out, 

" '  Sure,  sire,  only  come  hither,  and  I  will  show  you  Jeru- 
salem.' 

"  But  the  king,  throwing  down  his  weapons,  said,  with  tears 
in  his  eyes,  and  hands  uplifted  to  heaven — 

' '  Ah  !    Lord  God,  I  pray  thee  that  I  may  never  see  thy 
Mioly  city  Jerusalem,  since  things  thus  happen,  and  since  I  can- 
not deliver  it  from   the   hands  of  thine  enemies  !'     Richard 
could  do  nothing  more  than  return  to  his  queen  and  sister  at 
Acre. 

"  You  must  know  that  this  King  Richard  performed  such 
deeds  of  prowess  when  he  was  in  the  Holy  Land,  that  the 
Saracens,  on  seeing  their  horses  frightened  at  a  shadow  or  a 
bush,  cried  out  to  them,  '  What !  dost  think  Melech-Ric  is 
there  ?»  This  they  were  accustomed  to  say  from  the  many  times 
he  had  vanquished  them.  In  like  manner,  when  the  children  of 


BERENGARIA     OF     NAVARRE.  59 

Turks  or  Saracens  cried,  their  mothers  said  to  them,  '  Hush, 
hush  !  or  I  will  give  you  to  King  Richard  ;'  and  from  the  terror 
of  these  words  the  babes  were  instantly  quiet." 

The  Proven9al  historian  affirms,  that  the  final  truce  between 
Richard  and  Saladin  was  concluded  in  a  fair  flowery  meadow 
near  Mount  Tabor,  where  Richard  was  so  much  charmed  with 
the  gallant  bearing  of  the  Prince  of  Miscreants,  as  Saladin  is 
civilly  termed  in  the  crusading  treaties,  that  he  declared  he 
would  rather  be  the  friend  of  that  brave  and  honest  pagan,  than 
the  ally  of  the  crafty  Philip  or  the  brutal  Leopold. 

The  autumn  of  1192  had  commenced,  when  King  Richard 
concluded  his  peace  with  Saladin,  and  prepared  to  return, 
covered  with  fruitless  glory,  to  his  native  dominions.  A  mys- 
terious estrangement  had  at  this  time  taken  place  between  him 
and  Berengaria  ;  yet  the  chroniclers  do  not  mention  that  any 
rival  had  supplanted  the  queen,  but  merely  that  accidents  of 
war  had  divided  him  from  her  company.  As  for  the  Cypriot 
princess,  if  he  were  estranged  from  his  queen,  he  must  likewise 
have  been  separated  from  the  fair  captive,  since  she  always 
remained  with  Berengaria. 

The  king  bade  farewell  to  his  queen  and  sister,  and  saw  them 
embark  the  very  evening  of  his  own  departure.  The  queens 
were  accompanied  by  the  Cypriot  princess,  and  sailed  from 
Acre,  under  the  care  of  Stephen  de  Turnham,  September  the 
29th.  Richard  meant  to  return  by  a  different  route  across 
Europe.  He  traveled  in  the  disguise  of  a  Templar,  and  em- 
barked in  a  ship  belonging  to  the  master  of  the  Temple.  This 
vessel  was  wrecked  off  the  coast  of  Istria,  which  forced  Richard 
to  proceed  homewards  through  the  domains  of  his  enemy,  Leo- 
pold of  Austria.  But  to  his  ignorance  of  geography  is  attri- 
buted his  near  approach  to  Leopold's  capital.  After  several 


60  BERENGARIA     OF     NAVARRE. 

narrow  escapes,  a  page  sent  by  Kichard  to  purchase  provisions 
at  a  village  near  Vienna,  was  recognized  by  an  officer  who  had 
made  the  late  crusade  with  Leopold.  The  boy  was  seized,  and, 
after  enduring  cruel  torments,  he  confessed  where  he  had  left 
his  master. 

When  Leopold  received  certain  intelligence  where  Richard 
harbored,  the  inn  was  searched,  but  not  a  soul  found  there  who 
bore  any  appearance  of  a  king.  "  No,"  said  the  people, 
"  there  is  no  one  here,  without  he  be  the  Templar  in  the 
kitchen,  now  turning  the  fowls  which  are  roasting  for  dinner." 
The  officers  of  Leopold  took  the  hint  and  went  into  the  kitchen, 
where  in  fact  was  seated  a  Templar  very  busy  turning  the  spit. 
The  Austrian  chevalier,  who  had  served  in  the  crusade,  knew 
him,  and  said  quickly,  "  There  he  is — seize  him  !" 

Cceur  de  Lion  started  from  the  spit,  and  did  battle  for  his 
liberty  right  valiantly,  but  was  overborne  by  numbers. 

The  revengeful  Leopold  immediately  imprisoned  his  gallant 
enemy,  and  immured  him  so  closely  in  a  Styrian  castle,  called 
Tenebreuse,  that  for  months  no  one  knew  whether  the  lion- 
hearted  king  was  alive  or  dead.  Richard,  whose  heroic  name 
was  the  theme  of  admiration  in  Europe,  and  the  burden  of  every 
song,  seemed  vanished  from  the  face  of  the  earth. 

Better  fortune  attended  the  vessel  that  bore  the  fair  freight 
of  the  three  royal  ladies.  Stephen  de  Turnham's  galley  arrived 
without  accident  at  Naples,  where  Berengaria,  Joanna,  and  the 
Cypriot  princess,  landed  safely,  and,  under  the  care  of  Sir 
Stephen,  journeyed  to  Rome. 

The  Proven9al  traditions  declare,  that,  here  Berengaria  first 
took  the  alarm  that  some  disaster  had  happened  to  her  lord, 
from  seeing  a  belt  of  jewels  offered  for  sale,  which  she  knew  had 
been  in  his  possession  when  she  parted  from  him.  At  Rome 


BERENGARIA     OF     NAVARRE.  61 

she  likewise  heard  some  vague  reports  of  his  shipwreck,  and  of 
the  enmity  of  the  emperor  Henry  VI. 

Berengaria  was  detained  at  Rome  with  her  royal  companions, 
by  her  fear  of  the  emperor,  for  upwards  of  half  a  year.  At 
length  the  pope,  moved  by  her  distress  and  earnest  entreaties, 
sent  them  under  the  care  of  Messire  Mellar,  one  of  the  car- 
dinals, to  Pisa,  whence  they  proceeded  to  Genoa,  where  they 
took  shipping  to  Marseilles.  At  Marseilles,  Berengaria  was  met 
by  her  friend  and  kinsman,  the  King  of  Arragon,  who  showed 
the  royal  ladies  every  mark  of  reverence,  gave  them  sUfe  con- 
duct through  his  Provencal  domains,  and  sent  them  on  under 
the  escort  of  the  Count  de  Sancto  Egidio. 

This  Egidio  is  doubtless  the  gallant  Raymond  Count  St. 
Gilles,  who,  traveling  from  Rome  with  a  strong  escort,  offered 
his  protection  to  the  distressed  queens  ;  and  though  his  father, 
the  Count  of  Toulouse,  had  during  Richard's  crusade  invaded 
Guienne,  and  drawn  on  himself  a  severe  chastisement  from 
Berengaria 's  faithful  brother,  Sancho  the  Strong  ;  yet  the  young 
count  so  well  acquitted  himself  of  his  charge,  that  he  won  the 
affections  of  the  fair  widow,  Queen  Joanna,  on  the  journey. 
The  attachment  of  these  lovers  healed  the  enmity  that  had  long 
subsisted  between  the  house  of  Aquitaine  and  that  of  the  Counts 
of  Toulouse,  on  account  of  the  superior  claims  of  Queen  Elean- 
ora  on  that  great  fief.  When  Eleanora  found  the  love  that  sub- 
sisted between  her  youngest  child  and  the  heir  of  Toulouse,  she 
conciliated  his  father  by  giving  up  her  rights  to  her  daughter, 
and  Berengaria  had  the  satisfaction  of  seeing  her  two  friends 
united  after  she  arrived  at  Poitou. 

Now  Queen  Berengaria  is  left  safely  in  her  own  dominions,  it 
is  time  to  return  to  her  unfortunate  lord,  who  seems  to  have 
been  destined  by  the  malice  of  Leopold  to  a  life-long  incarcera- 


62  BEREKGARIA     OF     NAVARRE. 

tion.  The  royal  prisoner  almost  despaired  of  liberty  when  he 
wrote  that  pathetic  passage  in  his  well-known  Provencal  tenson, 
saying,  "  Now  know  I  for  a  certainty  that  there  exists  for  me 
neither  friend  nor  parent,  or  for  the  lack  of  gold  and  silver  I 
should  not  so  long  remain  a  prisoner." 

He  scarcely  did  justice  to  his  affectionate  mother,  who, 
directly  she  learned  his  captivity,  never  ceased  exerting  herself 
for  his  release. 

Without  giving  any  credence  to  the  ballad  story  of  King 
Richard  and  the  Lion's  heart,  which  solely  seems  to  have  arisen 
from  a  metaphorical  epithet  of  the  troubadour  Peyrols,*  and  is 
not  even  alluded  to  by  the  most  imaginative  of  contemporary 
chroniclers,  it  really  appears  that  Richard  was  ill-treated  during 
his  German  captivity.  Matthew  Paris  declares,  he  was  thrown 
into  a  dungeon,  from  whence  no  other  man  ever  escaped  with 
life,  and  was  loaded  with  irons  ;  yet  his  countenance  was  ever 
serene,  and  his  conversation  pleasant  and  facetious,  with  the 
crowds  of  armed  guards  by  whom  he  was  surrounded  day  and 
night. 

It  was  a  long  time  before  Richard's  friends  could  with  any 
certainty  make  out  his 'locality.  He  was  utterly  lost  for  some 
months.  Blondel,  a  troubadour  knight  and  poet,  who  had  been 
shipwrecked  with  him  on  the  coast  of  Istria,  and  who  had 

'  In  the  beautiful  crusade  sirvente  extant  by  Peyrols,  he  calls  the  king  lion- 
ktarttd  Richard.  Peyrols  was  his  fellow-soldier.— (Sismondi.) 

•Sfcuarliest  chronicler  who  mentions  the  lion  legend  is  Rastall,  the  brother-in- 
law  of  Sir  Thomas  More,  who  had  no  better  means  of  knowing  the  truth  than  we 
have.  Here  are  his  quaint  sayings  on  the  subject : — 

"  It  it  laid  that  a  lyon  was  put  to  King  Richard,  being  in  prison,  to  have  devoured 
him,  and  when  the  lyon  was  gaping  he  put  his  arm  in  his  mouth  and  jntlUd  the  lion 
fry  the  heart  10  hard  that  he  slew  the  lyon,  and  therefore  is  called  Coeur  de  Lyon  • 
while  other*  smy  he  is  called  Coonr  de  Lyon,  because  of  his  boldness  and  hardy 
stomach." 


BERENGARIA     OF     NAVARRE.  63 

sought  him  through  the  cities  of  southern  Germany,  sang,  be- 
neath the  tower  Tenebreuse  in  which  he  was  confined,  a  tenson 
which  Richard  and  he  had  composed  together.  Scarcely  had  he 
finished  the  first  stanza,  when  Richard  replied  with  the  second. 
Blondel  directly  went  to  Queen  Eleanora,  and  gave  her  tidings 
of  the  existence  of  her  son,  and  she  took  measures  for  his 
release.  Her  letters  to  the  pope  are  written  with  a  passionate 
eloquence,  highly  illustrative  of  that  tradition  of  the  south  which 
names  her  among  the  poets  of  her  country  : — 

"  Mother  of  pity,"  she  says,  "  look  upon  a  mother  of  so 
many  afflictions  !  or,  if  thy  holy  Son,  the  fountain  of  mercy, 
afflicts  my  son  for  my  transgression,  oh,  let  me,  who  am  the 
cause,  endure  alone  the  punishment. 

"  Two  sons  alone  remain  for  my  succor,  who  but  indeed  sur- 
vive for  my  misery  ;  for  King  Richard  exists  in  fetters,  while 
Prince  John,  brother  to  the  captive,  depopulates  with  the 
sword,  and  wastes  with  fire.  The  Lord  is  against  me,  his 
wrath  fights  against  me  ;  therefore  do  my  children  fight  against 
each  other  !" 

The  queen-mother  here  alludes  to  the  strife  raised  by  Prince 
John.  He  had  obtained  his  brother's  leave  to  abide  in  England 
on  condition  that  he  submitted  to  the  government  established 
there.  Queen  Eleanora  had  intended  to  fix  her  residence  at 
Rouen,  as  a  central  situation  between  her  own  dominions  and 
those  of  King  Richard.  But  the  confused  state  of  affairs  in 
England  summoned  her  thither,  February  11,  1192.  She 
found  John  in  open  rebellion,  for,  stimulated  by  messages  from 
Philip  Augustus,  offering  him  all  Richard's  continental  pro- 
vinces and  the  hand  of  Alice  rejected  by  Richard,  he  aimed  at 
nothing  less  than  the  English  crown.  The  arrival  of  his  mother 
curbed  his  turbulence  ;  she  told  him  to  touch  his  brother's 


64  BERENGARIA     OF    NAVARRE. 

rights  under  peril  of  her  curse  ;  she  forbade  his  disgraceful  in- 
tention of  allying  himself  with  Alice  ;  and,  to  render  such  mis- 
chievous project  impossible,  she  left  that  princess  in  close 
confinement  at  Rouen,  instead  of  delivering  her  to  Philip 
Augustus,  as  King  Richard  had  agreed  ;  so  little  truth  is  there 
in  the  common  assertion,  that  the  worthless  character  of  John 
might  be  attributed  to  the  encouragement  his  vices  received 
from  his  mother ;  but  it  was  the  doting  affection  of  Henry  II. 
for  his  youngest  son  that  had  this  effect,  as  he  was  the  child  of 
his  old  age  and  constantly  near  him,  while  the  queen  was  kept 
in  confinement  at  a  distance  from  her  family. 

When  Queen  Eleanora  and  the  chief  justiciary  heard  of  the 
detention  of  King  Richard,  they  sent  two  abbots  to  confer  with 
him  in  Germany.  They  met  him  with  his  guards  on  the  road 
to  Worms,  where  a  diet  of  the  empire  was  soon  to  be  held,  and 
were  received  by  him  with  his  usual  spirit  and  animation.  He 
inquired  into  the  state  of  his  friends,  his  subjects,  and  his 
dominions,  and  particularly  after  the  health  of  the  King  of 
Scotland,  on  whose  honor,  he  said,  he  entirely  relied  ;  and  cer- 
tainly he  was  not  deceived  in  his  judgment  of  the  character  of 
that  hero.  On  hearing  of  the  base  conduct  of  his  brother  John, 
he  was  shocked  and  looked  grave  ;  but  presently  recovering  his 
cheerfulness,  he  said,  with  a  smile,  "  My  brother  John  was 
never  made  for  conquering  kingdoms  !" 

Richard  defended  himself  before  the  diet  with  eloquence  and 
pathos  that  drew  tears  from  most  of  his  hearers  ;  and  the  medi- 
ation of  the  princes  of  the  empire  induced  the  emperor  to  ac- 
cept as  ransom  one  hundred  thousand  marks  of  silver. 

Meantime  the  ransom  was  collected  in  England,  Normandy, 
and  Aquitaine,  to  which  Queen  Eleanora  largely  contributed. 
When  the  first  installment  was  ready,  this  affectionate  mother 


BENENGARIA     OF     NAVARRE.  65 

and  the  chief  justiciary  set  out  for  Germany,  a  little  before 
Christmas.  Queen  Eleanora  was  accompanied  by  her  grand- 
daughter, Eleanora,  surnamed  the  Pearl  of  Brittany.  This 
young  princess  was  promised,  by  the  ransom-treaty,  in  marriage 
to  the  heir  of  Leopold  of  Austria.  The  Cypriot  princess  was  like- 
ewise  taken  from  the  keeping  of  Queen  Berengaria,  on  the  de- 
mand of  the  emperor,  and  surrendered  to  her  German  relatives. 

It  was  owing  to  the  exertions  of  the  gallant  Guelphic  princes, 
his  relations,  that  the  actual  liberation  of  Coeur  de  Lion  was  at 
last  effected.  Henry  the  Lion,  Duke  of  Saxony,  and  his  sons 
appeared  before  the  diet,  and  pleaded  the  cause  of  the  English 
hero  with  the  most  passionate  eloquence  ;  they  pledged  then- 
credit  for  the  payment  of  the  remainder  of  his  ransom,  and  ac- 
tually left  William  of  Winchester,  the  youngest  Guelphic  prince, 
in  pawn  with  the  emperor  for  the  rest  of  the  ransom. 

After  an  absence  of  four  years,  three  months,  and  nine  days, 
King  Richard  landed  at  Sandwich,  in  April,  the  Sunday  after 
St.  George's  day,  in  company  with  his  royal  mother,  who  had 
the  pleasure  of  surrendering  to  him  his  dominions,  both  insular 
and  continental,  without  diminution. 

Eleanora 's  detention  of  the  Princess  Alice  in  Normandy  had 
drawn  on  that  country  a  fierce  invasion  from  Philip  Augustus, 
the  result  of  which  would  have  been  doubtful,  if  the  tears  of 
Berengaria,  then  newly  arrived  in  Aquitaine,  had  not  prevailed 
on  her  noble  brother,  Sancho  the  Strong,  to  traverse  France 
with  two  hundred  choice  knights.  By  the  valor  of  this  hero, 
and  his  chivalric  reinforcement,  Normandy  was  delivered  from 
the  King  of  France. 

Berengaria,  during  the  imprisonment  of  her  royal  husband, 
lost  her  father,  Sancho  the  Wise,  King  of  Navarre,  who  died  in 
1194,  after  a  glorious  reign  of  forty-four  years. 


66  BERENGARIA     OF     NAVARRE. 

After  a  second  coronation,  Richard  went  in  progress  through- 
out England,  with  his  royal  mother,  to  sit  in  judgment  on  those 
Castellans  who  had  betrayed  their  fortresses  to  his  brother  John. 
At  all  these  councils  Queen  Eleanora  assisted  him,  being  treated 
by  her  son  with  the  utmost  reverence,  and  sitting  in  state  at  his 

right  hand. 

The  magnanimous  Coeur  de  Lion  treated  these  rebels  with 
great  lenity  ;  and  when  Prince  John,  on  the  arrival  of  the  king 
at  Rouen,  being  introduced  by  Queen  Eleanora,  knelt  at  his 
brother's  feet  for  pardon,  he  raised  him  with  this  remarkable 
expression — "  I  forgive  you,  John,  and  I  wish  I  could  as  easily 
forget  your  offence  as  you  will  my  pardon." 

King  Richard  finished  his  progress  by  residing  some  months 
in  his  Angevin  territories.  Although  he  was  in  the  vicinity  of 
the  loving  and  faithful  Berengaria,  he  did  not  return  to  her  so- 
ciety. The  reason  of  this  estrangement  was,  that  the  king  had 
renewed  his  connection  with  a  number  of  profligate  and  worth- 
less associates,  the  companions  of  his  long  bachelor-hood  in  his 
father's  lifetime.  His  conduct  at  this  time  infinitely  scandalized 
all  his  subjects,  as  he  abandoned  himself  to  drinking  and  great 
infamy ;  for  which  various  virtuous  churchmen  reproved  him 
boldly,  to  their  credit  be  it  spoken. 

"  The  spring  of  1195,  Richard  was  hunting  in  one  of  his 
Norman  forests,  when  he  was  met  by  a  hermit,  who  recognized 
him,  and  preached  him  a  very  eloquent  sermon  on  his  irregular 
life,  finishing  by  prophesying,  that  unless  he  repented,  his  end 
and  punishment  were  close  at  hand.  The  king  answered  slight- 
ingly, and  went  his  way  ;  but  the  Easter  following  he  was  seized 
with  a  most  severe  illness,  which  threatened  to  be  fatal,  when 
he  remembered  the  saying  of  the  hermit-prophet,  and,  greatly 
alarmed,  he  began  to  repent  of  his  sins." 


BERENGARIA     OF     NAVARRE.  67 

Richard  sent  for  all  the  monks  within  ten  miles  round,  and 
made  public  confession  of  his  iniquities,  vowing,  that  if  Queen 
Berengaria  would  forgive  him,  he  would  send  for  her,  and  never 
forsake  her  again. 

The  final  restoration  of  Berengaria  to  the  affections  of  her 
royal  husband  took  place  a  few  months  after,  when  Richard  pro- 
ceeded to  Poictiers,  where  he  was  reconciled  to  his  queen,  and 
kept  Christmas  and  the  new  year  of  1196  in  that  city,  with 
princely  state  and  hospitality.  It  was  a  year  of  great  scarcity 
and  famine,  and  the  beneficent  queen  exerted  her  restored  in- 
fluence over  the  heart  of  the  king,  by  persuading  him  to  give 
all  his  superfluous  money  in  bountiful  alms  to  the  poor ;  and 
through  her  goodness  many  were  kept  from  perishing.  From 
that  time  Queen  Berengaria  and  King  Richard  were  never 
parted.  She  found  it  best  to  accompany  him  in  all  his  cam- 
paigns ;  and  we  find  her  with  him  at  the  hour  of  his  death. 

Higden,  in  the  Polychronichon,  gives  this  testimony  to  the 
love  that  Berengaria  bore  to  Richard  : — "  The  king  took  home 
to  him  his  queen  Berengaria,  whose  society  he  had  for  a  long  time 
neglected,  though  she  were  a  royal,  eloquent,  and  beauteous 
lady,  and  for  his  love  had  ventured  with  him  through  the  world." 

The  same  year  the  king,  despairing  of  heirs  by  his  consort, 
sent  for  young  Arthur,  Duke  of  Bretagne,  that  the  boy  might 
be  educated  at  his  court  as  future  king  of  England.  His  mother, 
Constance,  out  of  enmity  to  Queen  Eleanora,  unwisely  refused 
this  request,  and  she  finished  her  folly  by  declaring  for  the  king 
of  France,  then  waging  a  fierce  war  against  Richard.  This  step 
cost  her  hapless  child  his  inheritance,  and  finally  his  life.  From 
this  time  Richard  acknowledged  his  brother  John  as  his  heir. 

The  remaining  three  years  of  Richard's  life  was  spent  in  petty 
provincial  wars  with  the  king  of  France.  In  one  of  his  treaties, 


68  BERENGARIA     OF     NAVARRE. 

the  Princess  Alice  was  at  last  surrendered  to  her  brother,  who 
gave  her,  with  (a  tarnished  reputation,  and)  the  dowry  of  the 
county  of  Ponthieu,  in  marriage  to  the  Count  of  Aumerle,  when 
she  had  arrived  at  her  thirty-fifth  year. 

After  the  reconciliation  between  Richard  and  Berengaria,  the 
royal  revenues  arising  from  the  tin-mines  in  Cornwall  and  Devon, 
valued  at  two  thousand  marks  per  annum,  were  confirmed  to  the 
queen  for  her  dower.  Her  continental  dower  was  the  city  of 
Bigorre  in  Aquitaine,  and  the  whole  county  of  Mans. 

It  was  the  lively  imagination  of  Richard,  heated  by  the  splen- 
did fictions  of  Arabian  romance,  that  hurried  him  to  his  end. 
A  report  was  brought  to  him  that  a  peasant  plowing  in  the  fields 
of  Vidomar,  Lord  of  Chaluz,  in  Aquitaine,  had  struck  upon  a 
trap-door  which  concealed  an  enchanted  treasure,  and  going 
down  into  a  cave  discovered  several  golden  statues  with  vases 
full  of  diamonds,  all  of  which  had  been  secured  in  the  castle  of 
Chaluz,  for  the  private  use  of  the  Sieur  de  Vidomar.  Richard, 
when  he  heard  this  fine  tale,  sent  to  Vidomar,  demanding,  as 
sovereign  of  the  country,  his  share  of  the  golden  statues.  The 
poor  Castellan  declared  that  no  such  treasure  had  been  found ; 
nothing  but  a  pot  of  Roman  corns  had  been  discovered,  and  those 
he  was  welcome  to  have. 

As  Richard  had  set  his  mind  on  golden  statues  and  vases  of 
diamonds,  and  had  thriven  so  well  when  he  demanded  the  golden 
furniture  from  King  Tancred,  it  was  not  probable  he  could  lower 
his  ideas  to  the  reality  stated  by  the  unfortunate  Lord  of  Vido- 
mar. Accordingly  he  marched  to  besiege  the  Castle  of  Chaluz, 
sending  word  to  Vidomar  either  to  deliver  the  statues,  or  abide 
the  storming  of  the  castle.  To  this  siege  Queen  Berengaria 
accompanied  the  king.  Here  Richard  met  his  death,  being 
pierced  from  the  walls  by  an  arrow  from  an  arbalista,  or  cross- 


BERENGARIA     OF     NAVARRE.  69 

bow,  aimed  by  the  hand  of  Bertrand  de  Gordon.  It  was  the 
unskillfulness  of  the  surgeon,  who  mangled  the  king's  shoulder 
in  cutting  out  the  arrow,  joined  to  Richard's  own  willfulness  in 
neglecting  the  regimen  of  his  physicians,  that  caused  the  morti- 
fication of  a  trifling  wound,  and  occasioned  the  death  of  a  hero, 
who  to  many  faults  joined  a  redeeming  generosity  that  showed 
itself  in  his  last  moments.  After  enduring  great  agony  from  his 
wound,  as  he  drew  near  to  death,  the  Castle  of  Chaluz  was 
taken.  He  caused  Bertrand  de  Gordon  to  be  brought  before 
him,  and  telling  him  he  was  dying,  asked  him  whether  he 
had  discharged  the  fatal  arrow  with  the  intention  of  slaying 
him  ? 

"  Yes,  tyrant,"  replied  Gordon  ;  "for  to  you  I  owe  the  deaths 
of  my  father  and  my  brother,  and  my  first  wish  was  to  be  re- 
venged on  you." 

Notwithstanding  the  boldness  of  this  avowal,  the  dying  king 
commanded  Gordon  to  be  set  at  liberty,  and  it  was  not  his  fault 
that  his  detestable  mercenary  general,  the  Fleming,  Marcade, 
caused  him  to  be  put  to  a  cruel  death. 

Richard's  death  took  place  April  6th,  1199;  his  queen  un- 
questionably was  with  him  when  he  died.  She  corroborated  the 
testimony  that  he  left  his  dominions  and  two-thirds  of  his  trea- 
sures to  his  brother  John. 

Richard  appears  to  have  borne  some  personal  resemblance  to 
his  great  uncle,  William  Rufus.  Like  him,  his  hair  and  com- 
plexion were  warm  in  color,  and  his  eyes  blue  and  fiercely  spark- 
ling. Like  Rufus,  his  strength  was  prodigious,  but  he  had  the 
advantage  of  a  tall  majestic  figure.  There  are  some  points  of 
resemblance  in  character  between  Richard  and  his  collateral  an- 
cestor, though  Richard  must  be  considered  a  more  learned  and 
elegant  prince,  and  susceptible,  withal,  of  more  frequent  im- 


70  BERENGARIA     OF     NAVARRE. 

pulses  of  generosity  and  penitence.     They  both  seem  to  have 
excelled  in  the  same  species  of  wit  and  lively  repartee. 

At  the  time  of  King  Richard's  death,  Matthew  Paris  declares 
Queen  Eleanora,  his  mother,  was  governing  England,  "  where," 
adds  that  historian,  "  she  was  exceedingly  respected  and  beloved." 

Before  the  body  of  Coeur  de  Lion  was  committed  to  the  grave, 
an  additional  load  of  anguish  assailed  the  heart  of  his  royal 
widow,  through  the  calamities  that  befell  Joanna,  her  friend,  and 
Richard's  favorite  sister.  The  persecution  on  account  of  reli- 
gion that  afterwards  visited  Joanna's  gallant  son,  in  the  well- 
known  war  against  the  Albigenses,  had  already  attacked  his 
father  incipiently.  Owing  to  the  secret  agitations  of  the  Catholic 
clergy,  the  Barons  of  Toulouse  were  in  arms  against  the  gallant 
Raymond.  Queen  Joanna,  though  in  a  state  little  consistent 
with  such  exertions,  flew  to  arms  for  the  relief  of  her  adored 
lord.  We  translate  the  following  mournful  passage  from  Guil- 
laume  de  Puy-Laurens  : — "  Queen  Joanna  was  a  woman  of  great 
courage,  and  was  highly  sensitive  to  the  injuries  of  her  husband. 
She  laii  siege  to  the  Castle  of  Ceasar  ;  but,  owing  to  the  treach- 
ery of  her  attendants,  her  camp  was  fired — she  escaped  with 
difficulty  from  the  burning  tents,  much  scorched  and  hurt.  Un- 
subdued by  this  accident,  she  hastened  to  lay  her  wrongs  before 
.  her  beloved  brother,  King  Richard.  She  found  he  had  just  ex- 
pired as  she  arrived.  The  pains  of  premature  child-birth  seized 
her  as  she  heard  the  dire  intelligence,  and  she  sank  under  the 
double  affliction  of  mental  and  corporeal  agony.  With  her  last 
breath  she  begged  to  be  laid  near  her  brother  Richard."  To 
Berengaria  the  request  was  made,  and  the  cold  remains  of  the 
royal  brother  and  sister,  the  dearest  objects  of  the  sorrowing 
queen's  affections,  were  laid,  by  her  pious  care,  side  by  side  in 
the  stately  abbey  of  Fontevraud. 


BERENGARIA     OF     NAVARRE-  71 

The  death  of  Joanna  was  immediately  succeeded  by  that  of 
Berengaria 's  only  sister  Blanche.  This  princess  had  been  given 
in  marriage  by  Coaur  de  Lion  to  his  nephew  and  friend,  the  trou- 
badour-prince, Thibaut  of  Champagne.  The  Princess  Blanche 
died  the  day  after  the  birth  of  a  son,  who  afterwards  was  the 
heir  both  of  Sancho  and  Berengaria,  and  finally  King  of  Navarre. 
Thus,  in  the  course  of  a  few  short  weeks,  was  the  Queen  of  Eng- 
land bereft  of  all  that  were  near  and  dear  to  her ;  the  world  had 
become  a  desert  to  Berengaria  before  she  left  it  for  a  life  of  con- 
ventual seclusion. 

Queen  Berengaria  fixed  her  residence  at  Mans  in  the  Orlean- 
nois,  where  she  held  a  great  part  of  her  foreign  dower.  Here 
she  founded  the  noble  Abbey  of  L'Espan. 

Once  Queen  Berengaria  left  her  widowed  retirement,  when 
she  met  her  brother-in-law,  King  John,  and  his  fair  young  bride, 
at  Chinon,  her  husband's  treasure  city.  Here  she  compounded 
with  the  English  monarch,  for  the  dower  she  held  in  England, 
for  two  thousand  marks  per  annum,  to  be  paid  half-yearly. 
After  being  entertained  with  royal  magnificence,  and  reeving 
every  mark  of  respect  from  the  English  court,  the  royal  widow 
bade  farewell  to  public  splendor,  and  retired  to  conventual  seclu- 
sion, and  the  practice  of  constant  charity.  But  no  sooner  was 
John  fixed  firmly  on  the  English  throne,  than  he  began  to  neglect 
the  payment  of  the  dower  for  which  his  sister-in-law  had  com- 
pounded ;  and  in  1206,  there  appears  in  the  Foedera  a  passport 
for  the  queen-dowager  to  come  to  England  for  the  purpose  of 
conferring  with  King  John  ;  but  there  exists  no  authority  where- 
by we  can  prove  that  she  arrived  in  England. 

The  records  of  1209  present  a  most  elaborate  epistle  from 
Pope  Innocent,  setting  forth  the  wrongs  and  wants  of  his  dear 
daughter  in  Christ,  Berengaria,  who,  he  says,  had  appealed  to 


72  BERENGARIA     OF     NAVARRE. 

him  "  with  floods  of  tears  streaming  down  her  cheeks,  and  with 
audible  cries"— which,  we  trust,  were  flowers  of  rhetoric  of  the 
pope's  secretary.  As  Pope  Innocent  threatens  John  with  an 
interdict,  it  is  pretty  certain  that  the  wrongs  of  Berengaria 
formed  a  clause  in  the  subsequent  excommunication  of  the  felon 
king. 

In  1214,  when  the  excommunication  was  taken  off,  there  ex- 
ists a  letter  from  John  to  his  dear  sister,  the  illustrious  Beren- 
garia, praying  that  the  pope's  nuncio  might  arbitrate  what  was 
due  to  her.  The  next  year  brings  a  piteous  letter  from  King 
John,  praying  that  his  dearly-beloved  sister  will  excuse  his  delay 
of  payment,  seeing  the  "  greatness  of  his  adversity  by  reason  of 
the  wickedness  of  his  magnates  and  barons,"  who  had  invited 
Prince  Louis  of  France  to  spoil  her  estates  ;  "  but  when,"  says 
King  John,  "  these  clouds  that  have  overcast  our  serenity  shall 
disperse,  and  our  kingdom  be  full  of  joyful  tranquillity,  then  the 
pecuniary  debt  owed  to  our  dear  sister  shall  be  paid  joyfully  and 
thankfully." 

Tjy  precious  epistle  was  penned  July  8th,  1216,  by  John, 
but  he  died  the  succeeding  October,  and  Berengaria 's  debt  was 
added  to  the  vast  sum  of  his  other  trespasses  ;  for  "  joyful  tran- 
quillity" never  came  for  him,  nor  of  course  her  time  of  pay- 
ment. 

In  the  reign  of  Henry  III.,  Berengaria  had  again  to  require 
the  pope's  assistance  for  the  payment  of  her  annuity.  Her 
arrears  at  that  time  amounted  to  £4040  sterling  ;  but  the 
Templars  became  guarantees  and  agents  for  her  payments  ;  and 
from  that  time  the  pecuniary  troubles  of  Berengaria  cease  to 
form  a  feature  in  our  national  records. 

The  date  of  Berengaria's  death  has  generally  been  fixed  about 
the  year  1230,  but  that  was  only  the  year  of  the  completion  of 


BERENGARIA     OF     NAVARRE.  73 

her  Abbey  of  Espan,  and  of  her  final  retirement  from  the 
world,  as  from  that  time  she  took  up  her  abode  within  its  walls, 
and  finished  there  her  blameless  life,  at  an  advanced  age,  some 
years  afterwards. 

Berengaria  was  interred  in  her  own  stately  abbey.  The  fol- 
lowing most  interesting  particulars  of  her  monument  we  tran- 
scribe from  the  noble  work  of  the  late  Mr.  Stothard,  edited  by 
his  accomplished  widow,  Mrs.  Bray  : — 

"  When  Mr.  Stothard  visited  the  Abbey  of  L 'Espan,  near 
Mans,  in  search  of  the  effigy  of  Berengaria,  he  found  the  church 
converted  into  a  barn,  and  the  object  of  his  inquiry  in  a  muti- 
lated state,  concealed  under  a  quantity  of  wheat.  It  was  in 
excellent  preservation,  with  the  exception  of  the  left  arm.  By 
the  eifigy  were  lying  the  bones  of  the  queen,  the  silent  witnesses 
of  the  sacrilegious  demolition  of  the  tomb.  After  some  search, 
a  portion  of  the  arm  belonging  to  the  statue  was  recovered." 
Three  men  who  had  assisted  in  the  work  of  destruction,  stated, 
"  that  the  monument  with  the  figure  upon  it  stood  in  the  centre 
of  the  aisle,  at  the  east  end  of  the  church ;  that  thq^  was  no 
coffin  within  it,  but  a  small  square  box,  containing  bones,  pieces 
of  linen,  some  stuff  embroidered  with  gold,  and  a  slate,  on  which 
was  found  an  inscription."  The  slate  was  found  in  possession 
of  a  canon  of  the  church  of  St.  Julien,  at  Mans ;  upon  it  was 
engraven  an  inscription,  of  which  the  following  is  a  trans- 
lation : — 

"  The  tomb  of  the  most  serene  Berengaria,  Queen  of  Eng- 
land, the  noble  founder  of  this  monastery,  was  restored  and  re- 
moved to  this  more  sacred  place.  In  it  were  deposited  the 
bones  which  were  found  in  the  ancient  sepulchre,  on  the  27th 
May,  in  the  year  of  our  Lord  1672." 

The  sides  of  the  tomb  are  ornamented  with  deep  quatre- 


CL  ft  01  R    R. 


LAURA,  rendered  immortal  by  the  love  and  lyre  of  Petrarch, 
was  the  daughter  of  Audibert  de  Noves,  who  was  of  the  haute 
noblesse  of  Avignon.  He  died  in  the  infancy  of  Laura,  leaving 
her  a  dowry  of  one  thousand  gold  crowns,  (about  fifty  thousand 
dollars,)  a  magnificent  portion  for  those  times.  She  was  married 
at  the  age  of  eighteen  to  Hugh  de  Sade,  a  young  noble  only  a 
few  years  older  than  his  bride,  but  not  distinguished  by  any  ad- 
vantages either  of  person  or  mind.  The  marriage  contract  is 
dated  in  January,  1325,  two  years  before  her  first  meeting  with 
Petrarch  ;  and  in  it  her  mother,  the  Lady  Ermessende,  and  her 
brother,  John  de  Noves,  stipulate  to  pay  the  dower  left  by  her 
father  ;  and  also  to  bestow  on  the  bride  two  magnificent  dresses 
for  state  occasions — one  of  green,  embroidered  with  violets,  the 
other  of  crimson,  trimmed  with  feathers.  In  all  the  portraits 
of  Laura  now  extant,  she  is  represented  in  one  of  these  two 
dresses,  and  they  are  frequently  alluded  to  by  Petrarch.  He 
tells  us  expressly  that,  when  he  first  met  her  at  matins  in  the 
church  of  Saint  Claire,  she  was  habited  in  a  robe  of  green  spotted 
with  violets.  Mention  is  also  made  of  a  coronal  of  silver  with 
which  she  wreathed  her  hair — of  her  necklaces  and  ornaments 
of  pearls.  Diamonds  are  not  once  alluded  to,  because  the  art 
of  cutting  them  had  not  then  been  invented.  From  all  which  it 
appears  that  Laura  was  opulent,  and  moved  in  the  first  class  of 
society.  It  was  customary  for  women  of  rank  in  those  times  to 


78  LAURA. 

dress  with  extreme  simplicity  on  ordinary  occasions,  but  with  the 
most  gorgeous  splendor  when  they  appeared  in  public. 

There  are  some  beautiful  descriptions  of  Laura  surrounded  by 
her  young  female  companions,  divested  of  all  her  splendid  ap- 
parel, in  a  simple  white  robe  and  a  few  flowers  in  her  hair,  but 
still  preeminent  over  all  by  her  superior  loveliness. 

She  was  in  person  a  fair,  Madonna-like  beauty,  with  soft  dark 
eyes,  and  a  profusion  of  pale  golden  hair  parted  on  her  brow, 
and  falling  in  rich  curls  over  her  neck.  The  general  character 
of  her  beauty  must  have  been  pensive,  soft,  unobtrusive,  and 
even  somewhat  languid.  This  softness  and  repose  must  have 
been  far  removed  from  insipidity,  for  Petrarch  dwells  on  the 
rare  and  varying  expression  of  her  loveliness,  the  lightening  of 
her  smile,  and  the  tender  magic  of  her  voice,  which  was  felt  in 
the  inmost  heart.  He  dwells  on  the  celestial  grace  of  her  figure 
and  movements,  and  describes  the  beauty  of  her  hand  and  the 
loveliness  of  her  mouth.  She  had  a  habit  of  veiling  her  eyes 
with  her  hand,  and  her  looks  were  generally  bent  on  the  earth. 

In  a  portrait  of  Laura,  in  the  Laurentinian  library  at  Flo- 
rence, the  eyes  have  this  characteristic  downcast  look. 

Laura  was  distinguished,  then,  by  her  rank  and  fortune,  but 
more  by  her  loveliness,  her  sweetness,  and  the  untainted  purity 
of  her  life  and  manners  in  the  midst  of  a  society  noted  for  its 
licentiousness.  Now  she  is  known  as  the  subject  of  Petrarch's 
verses,  as  the  woman  who  inspired  an  immortal  passion,  and, 
kindling  into  living  fire  the  dormant  sensibility  of  the  poet,  gave 
origin  to  the  most  beautiful  and  refined,  the  most  passionate  and 
yet  the  most  delicate  amatory  poetry  that  exists  in  the  world. 

Petrarch  was  twenty-three  years  of  age  when  he  first  felt  the 
power  of  a  violent  and  inextinguishable  passion.  At  six  in  the 
morning  on  the  sixth  of  April,  A.  D.  1327,  (he  often  fondly 


LAURA.  79 

records  the  exact  year,  day  and  hour,)  on  the  occasion  of  the 
festival  of  Easter,  he  visited  the  church  of  Saint  Claire  at  Avig- 
non, and  beheld,  for  the  first  time,  Laura  de  Sade.  She  was 
just  twenty  years  of  age,  and  in  the  bloom  of  beauty — a  beauty 
so  touching  and  heavenly,  so  irradiated  by  purity  and  smiling 
innocence,  and  so  adorned  by  gentleness  and  modesty,  that  the 
first  sight  stamped  the  image  in  the  poet's  heart,  never  there- 
after to  be  erased. 

Petrarch  beheld  the  loveliness  and  sweetness  of  the  young 
beauty,  and  was  transfixed.  He  sought  acquaintance  with  her  ; 
and  while  the  manners  of  the  times  prevented  his  entering  her 
house,  he  enjoyed  many  opportunities  of  meeting  her  in  society, 
and  of  conversing  with  her.  He  would  have  declared  his  love, 
but  her  reserve  enforced  silence.  "  She  opened  my  breast  and 
took  my  heart  into  her  hand,  saying  '  speak  no  word  of  this,'  " 
he  writes.  Yet  the  reverence  inspired  by  her  modesty  and 
dignity  was  not  always  sufficient  to  restrain  her  lover.  Being 
alone  with  her  on  one  occasion,  and  she  appearing  more  gracious 
than  usual,  Petrarch  tremblingly  and  fearfully  confessed  his  pas- 
sion ;  but  she,  with  altered  looks,  replied,  "  I  am  not  the  person 
you  take  me  for  !"  Her  displeasure  froze  the  very  heart  of  the 
poet,  so  that  he  fled  from  her  presence  in  grief  and  dismay. 

No  attentions  on  his  part  could  make  any  impression  on  her 
steady  and  virtuous  mind.  While  love  and  youth  drove  him 
on,  she  remained  impregnable  and  firm  ;  and  when  she  found 
that  he  still  rushed  wildly  forward,  she  preferred  forsaking,  to 
following  him  to  the  precipice  down  which  he  would  have  hurried 
her.  Meanwhile,  as  he  gazed  on  her  angelic  countenance,  and 
saw  purity  painted  on  it,  his  love  grew  spotless  as  herself.  Love 
transforms  the  true  lover  into  a  resemblance  of  the  object  of  his 
passion.  In  a  town,  which  was  the  asylum  of  vice,  calumny 


80  LAURA. 

never  breathed  a  taint  upon  Laura's  name ;  her  actions,  her 
words,  the  very  expression  of  her  countenance,  and  her  slightest 
gestures  were  replete  with  modest  reserve  combined  with  sweet- 
ness, and  won  the  applause  of  all. 

Francesco  Petrarch  was  of  Florentine  extraction,  and  the  son 
of  a  notary,  who,  being  held  in  great  esteem  by  his  fellow- 
citizens,  had  filled  several  public  offices. 

"When  the  Ghibelines  were  banished  Florence,  in  1302,  Pe- 
traccolo  was  included  in  the  number  of  exiles ;  his  property  was 
confiscated,  and  he  retired  with  his  wife,  Eletta  Canigiani,  whom 
he  had  lately  married,  to  the  town  of  Arrezzo,  in  Tuscany. 
And  here  on  the  night  of  the  20th  of  July,  1304,  Petrarch  first 
saw  the  light.  When  the  child  was  seven  months  old  his  mother 
was  permitted  to  return  from  banishment,  and  she  established 
herself  at  a  country  house  belonging  to  her  husband,  near  An- 
cisa,  a  small  town  fifteen  miles  from  Florence.  The  infant  who, 
at  his  birth,  it  was  supposed  would  not  survive,  was  exposed  to 
imminent  peril  during  this  journey.  In  fording  a  rapid  stream, 
the  man  who  had  charge  of  him  carried  him,  wrapped  in  swad- 
dling clothes,  at  the  end  of  a  stick ;  he  fell  from, his  horse,  and 
the  babe  slipped  from  the  fastenings  into  the  water,  from  which, 
however,  he  was  rescued,  uninjured. 

The  youth  of  Petrarch  was  obscure  in  point  of  fortune,  but 
it  was  attended  by  all  the  happiness  that  springs  from  family 
concord,  and  the  excellent  character  of  his  parents.  At  the 
age  of  fifteen  he  was  sent  to  study  in  the  University  of  Montpel- 
lier,  then  frequented  by  a  vast  concourse  of  students.  His  father 
intended  his  son  to  pursue  the  study  of  the  law,  as  the  profession 
best  suited  to  insure  his  reputation  and  fortune ;  but  to  this 
pursuit  Francesco  was  invincibly  repugnant.  He  was  soon  after 
sent  to  Bologna,  where,  as  at  Montpellier,  he  continued  to  dis- 


LAURA.  81 

play  great  taste  for  literature,  much,  to  his  father's  dissatisfac- 
tion. 

At  Bologna,  Petrarch  made  considerable  progress  in  the 
study  of  the  law,  moved  thereto,  doubtless,  by  the  entreaties  of 
his  excellent  parent. 

After  three  years  spent  at  Bologna,  Petrarch  was  recalled  to 
France  by  the  death  of  his  father.  Soon  after  his  mother  died 
also,  and  he  and  his  brother  were  left  entirely  to  their  own 
guidance,,  with  very  slender  means,  and  those  diminished  by  the 
dishonesty  of  those  whom  his  father  named  as  trustees  to  their 
fortune.  Under  these  circumstances  Petrarch  entirely  aban- 
doned the  profession  of  the  law,  as  it  occurred  to  both  him  and 
his  brother  that  the  clerical  profession  was  their  best  resource  in 
a  city  where  the  priesthood  reigned  supreme.  They  resided  at 
Avignon,  and  became  the  favorites  and  companions  of  the  eccle- 
siastical and  lay  nobles  who  formed  the  papal  court.  His  talents 
and  accomplishments  were  of  course  the  cause  of  this  distinction ; 
besides  that  his  personal  advantages  were  such  as  to  prepossess 
every  one  in  his  favor.  He  was  so  handsome  as  frequently  to 
attract  observation  when  he  passed  along  the  streets.  When, 
to  the  utmost  simplicity  and  singleness  of  mind,  were  added 
splendid  talents,  the  charm  of  poetry,  so  highly  valued  in  the 
country  of  the  Troubadours,  an  affectionate  and  generous  dispo- 
sition, vivacious  and  pleasing  manners,  an  engaging  and  attrac- 
tive exterior,  we  cannot  wonder  that  Petrarch  was  the  darling 
of  his  age,  the  associate  of  its  greatest  men,  and  the  man  whom 
princes  delighted  to  honor. 

The  passion  of  Petrarch  for  Laura  was  purified  and  exalted 
at  the  same  time.  She  filled  him  with  noble  aspirations,  and 
divided  him  from  the  common  herd.  He  felt  that  her  influence 
made  him  superior  to  vulgar  ambition,  and  rendered  him  wise, 


82  LAURA. 

true,  and  great.  She  saved  him  in  the  dangerous  period  of 
youth,  and  gave  a  worthy  aim  to  all  his  endeavors.  The  man- 
ners of  his  age  permitted  one  solace — a  Platonic  attachment 
was  the  fashion  of  the  day.  The  Troubadours  had  each  a  lady 
to  adore,  to  wait  upon,  and  to  celebrate  in  song,  without  its 
being  supposed  that  she  made  him  any  return  beyond  a  gracious 
acceptance  of  his  devoirs,  and  allowing  him  to  make  her  the 
heroine  of  his  verses.  Petrarch  endeavored  to  merge  the  living 
passion  of  his  soul  into  this  airy  and  unsubstantial  devotion. 
Laura  permitted  the  homage  ;  she  perceived  his  merit  and  was 
proud  of  his  admiration ;  she  felt  the  truth  of  his  affection,  and 
indulged  the  wish  of  preserving  it  and  her  own  honor  at  the 
same  time.  Without  her  inflexibility,  this  had  been  a  dangerous 
experiment ;  but  she  always  kept  her  lover  distant  from  her — 
rewarding  his  reserve  with  smiles,  and  repressing  by  frowns  all 
the  overflowings  of  his  heart. 

By  her  resolute  severity,  she  incurred  the  danger  of  ceasing 
to  be  the  object  of  his  attachment,  and  of  losing  the  gift  of  an 
immortal  name,  which  he  has  conferred  upon  her.  But  Pe- 
trarch's constancy  was  proof  against  hopelessness  and  time. 
He  had  too  fervent  an  admiration  of  her  qualifications  ever  to 
change ;  he  controlled  the  vivacity  of  his  feelings,  and  they 
became  deeper  rooted.  "  Untouched  by  my  prayers,"  he  says, 
"  unvanquished  by  my  arguments,  unmoved  by  my  flattery,  she 
remained  faithful  to  her  sex's  honor;  she  resisted  her  own 
young  heart,  and  mine,  and  a  thousand,  thousand  things,  which 
must  have  conquered  any  other.  She  remained  unshaken.  A 
woman  taught  me  the  duty  of  a  man !  to  persuade  me  to  keep 
the  path  of  virtue,  her  conduct  was  at  once  an  example  and  a 
reproach." 

But  whether,  in  this  long  conflict,  Laura  preserved  her  heart 


LAURA.  83 

untouched,  as  well  as  her  virtue  immaculate ;  whether  she 
shared  the  love  she  inspired,  or  whether  she  escaped  from 
the  captivating  assiduities  and  intoxicating  homage  of  her 
lover,  "  fancy  free  ;"  whether  coldness,  or  prudence,  or  pride, 
or  virtue,  or  the  mere  heartless  love  of  admiration,  or  a  mix- 
ture of  all  together,  dictated  her  conduct,  is  at  least  as  well 
worth  inquiry  as  the  color  of  her  eyes,  or  the  form  of  her  nose, 
upon  which  we  have  pages  of  grave  discussion.  She  might 
have  been  coquette  par  instinct ,  if  not  par  calent ;  she  might 
have  felt,  with  feminine  tacte,  that,  to  preserve  her  influence 
over  Petrarch,  it  was  necessary  to  preserve  his  respect.  She 
was  evidently  proud  of  her  conquest — she  had  else  been  more 
or  less  than  woman ;  and  at  every  hazard,  but  that  of  self- 
respect,  she  was  resolved  to  retain  him.  If  Petrarch  absented 
himself  for  a  few  days,  he  was  generally  better  treated  on  his 
return.  If  he  avoided  her,  then  her  eye  followed  him  with  a 
softer  expression.  When  he  looked  pale  from  sickness  of  heart 
and  agitation  of  spirits,  Laura  would  address  him  with  a  few 
words  of  pitying  tenderness.  When  he  presumed  on  this  be- 
nignity, he  was  again  repulsed  with  frowns.  He  flew  to  solitude 
— solitude  !  Never  let  the  proud  and  torn  heart,  wrung  with 
the  sense  of  injury,  and  sick  with  unrequited  passion,  seek  that 
worst  resource  against  pain,  for  there  grief  grows  by  contemplat- 
ing itself,  and  every  feeling  is  sharpened  by  collision.  Petrarch 
sought  to  "  mitigate  the  fever  of  his  heart"  amid  the  shades  of 
Vaucluse,  a  spot  so  gloomy,  and  so  solitary,  that  his  very  ser- 
vants forsook  him ;  and  Vaucluse,  its  fountains,  its  forests,  and 
its  hanging  cliffs,  reflected  only  the  image  of  Laura. 

He  passed  several  years  thus,  cut  off  from  society.  His  books 
were  his  great  resource  ;  he  was  never  without  one  in  his  hand. 
Often  he  remained  in  silence  from  morning  till  night,  wandering 


g4  LAURA. 

among  the  hills  when  the  sun  was  yet  low,  and  taking  refuge, 
during  the  heat  of  the  day,  in  his  shady  garden.  At  night,  after 
performing  his  clerical  duties,  (for  he  was  canon  of  Lombes), 
he  rambled  among  the  hills — often  entering,  at  midnight,  the 
cavern,  whose  gloom,  even  during  the  day,  struck  his  soul  with 
awe.  "  Fool  that  I  was !"  he  exclaims  in  after-life,  "  not  to 
have  remembered  the  first  school-boy  lesson — that  solitude  is 
the  nurse  of  love!" 

While  living  at  Vaucluse,  Petrarch,  invited  to  Home  by  the 
Roman  Senate,  repaired  thither  to  receive  the  laurel  crown  of 
poesy.  The  ceremony  was  performed  in  the  Capitol  with  great 
solemnity,  in  the  presence  of  all  the  nobles  and  high-born  ladies 
of  the  city.  Leaving  Rome  soon  after  his  coronation,  he  re- 
paired to  Parma,  where  Clement  VI.  rewarded  him  for  sub- 
sequent political  services  by  naming  him  prior  of  Migliarino  in 
the  diocese  of  Pisa. 

Petrarch  returned  to  Avignon.  The  sight  of  Laura  gave 
fresh  energy  to  a  passion  which  had  survived  the  lapse  of  fifteen 
years.  She  was  no  longer  the  blooming  girl  who  had  first 
charmed  him.  The  cares  of  life  had  dimmed  her  beauty.  She 
was  the  mother  of  many  children,  and  had  been  afflicted  at 
various  times  by  illness.  Her  home  was  not  happy.  Her  hus- 
band, without  loving  or  appreciating  her,  was  ill-tempered  and 
jealous.  Petrarch  acknowledged  that  if  her  personal  charms 
had  been  her  sole  attraction  he  had  already  ceased  to  love  her. 
But  his  passion  was  nourished  by  sympathy  and  esteem ;  and, 
above  all,  by  that  mysterious  tyranny  of  love,  which,  while  it 
exists,  the  mind  of  man  seems  to  have  no  power  of  resisting, 
though  in  feebler  minds  it  sometimes  vanishes  like  a  dream. 
Petrarch  was  also  changed  in  personal  appearance.  His  hair 
was  sprinkled  with  gray,  and  lines  of  care  and  sorrow  trenched 


LAURA.  85 

his  face.  On  both  sides  the  tenderness  of  affection  began  to 
replace,  in  him  the  violence  of  passion,  in  her  the  coyness  and 
severity  she  had  found  necessary  to  check  his  pursuit.  The 
jealousy  of  her  husband  opposed  obstacles  to  their  seeing  each 
other.  They  met  as  they  could  in  public  walks  and  assemblies. 
Laura  sang  to  him,  and  a  soothing  familiarity  grew  up  between 
them  as  her  fears  became  allayed,  and  he  looked  forward  to  the 
time  when  they  might  sit  together  and  converse  without  dread. 

At  length  he  resolved  to  leave  Laura  and  Avignon  forever, 
and  instead  of  plunging  into  solitude,  to  seek  the  wiser  resource 
of  travel  and  society.  Laura  saw  him  depart  with  regret. 
When  he  went  to  take  leave  of  her,  he  found  her  surrounded  by 
a  circle  of  her  ladies.  Her  mien  was  dejected ;  a  cloud  over- 
cast her  face,  whose  expression  seemed  to  say,  "  Who  takes  my 
faithful  friend  from  me  ?"  Petrarch  was  struck  to  the  heart  by 
a  sad  presentiment — the  emotion  was  mutual — they  both 
seemed  to  feel  that  they  should  never  meet  again. 

Petrarch  departed.  The  plague,  which  had  been  extending 
its  ravages  over  Asia,  entered  Europe.  It  spread  far  and  wide  ; 
nearly  one  half  the  population  of  the  world  became  its  prey. 
Petrarch  saw  thousands  die  around  him,  and  he  trembled  for  his 
friends.  He  heard  that  it  was  at  Avignon.  A  thousand  sad 
presentiments  haunted  his  mind.  At  last  the  fatal  truth 
reached  him,  Laura  was  dead  !  By  a  singular  coincidence,  she 
died  on  the  anniversary  of  the  day  when  he  first  saw  her.  She 
was  taken  ill  on  the  third  of  April,  and  languished  but  three 
days.  As  soon  as  the  symptoms  of  the  plague  declared  them- 
selves, she  prepared  to  die.  She  made  her  will,  which  is  dated 
on  the  third  of  April,  and  received  the  sacraments  of  the  church. 
On  the  sixth  she  died,  surrounded  by  her  friends  and  the  noble 
ladies  of  Avignon,  who  braved  the  dangers  of  infection  to  attend 


86  LAURA. 

on  one  so  lovely  and  so  beloved.  On  the  evening  of  the  same 
day  on  which  she  died,  she  was  interred  in  the  chapel  of  the 
Cross  which  her  husband  had  lately  built  in  the  church  of  the 
Minor  Friars  at  Avignon. 

Her  tomb  was  discovered  and  opened  in  1533,  in  the  pre- 
sence of  Francis  the  First,  whose  celebrated  stanzas  on  the  occa- 
sion are  well  known. 

Of  the  fame  which,  even  in  her  lifetime,  the  love,  and  the 
poetical  adoration  of  Petrarch  had  thrown  around  his  Laura, 
curious  instance  is  given  which  will  characterize  the  manners  of 
the  age.  When  Charles  of  Luxembourg  (afterwards  Emperor) 
was  at  Avignon,  a  grand  fete  was  given,  in  his  honor,  at  which 
all  the  noblesse  were  present.  He  desired  that  Petrarch's  Laura 
should  be  pointed  out  to  him  ;  and  when  she  was  introduced,  he 
made  a  sign  with  his  hand  that  the  other  ladies  present  should 
fall  back ;  then  going  up  to  Laura,  and  for  a  moment  contem- 
plating her  with  interest,  he  kissed  her  respectively  on  the  fore- 
head and  on  the  eyelids. 

Petrarch  survived  her  twenty-six  years,  dying  in  1374.  He 
was  found  lifeless  one  morning  in  his  study,  his  hand  resting  on 
a  book. 


of 


IQA3K    G£    &£€, 

THE   MAID   OF    ORLEANS. 

ALTHOUGH  woman  is  so  physically  constituted  as  to  render  the 
more  tender  and  delicate  offices  of  human  duty  her  appropriate 
sphere  of  action,  yet  this  by  no  means  justifies  the  illiberal  but 
common  error  that  her  mental  abilities  are  only  equal  to  her 
corporeal  energies.  We  might  adduce  numberless  instances  to 
disprove  this  inference,  for  the  history  of  the  past  is  rife  with  the 
records  of  the  mental  strength  and  moral  courage  of  woman. 
When  the  holy  impulse  of  maternal  or  conjugal  affection,  the 
noble  sentiments  of  true  patriotism,  the  angelic  spirit  of  genuine 
benevolence,  or  the  awful  presence  of  great  danger  or  death 
have  awakened  in  its  fullest  strength  the  more  masculine  ener- 
gies of  the  female  character,  where  can  we  look  for  more  cool 
deliberation,  sagacious  forethought,  or  firmness  of  purpose,  than 
such  occasions  have  exhibited  ?  The  pages  of  holy  writ,  the 
annals  of  Greece  and  Rome,  the  book  of  Christian  martyrs,  the 
records  of  our  revolutionary  struggles,  all  exhibit,  in  their  bright- 
est hues,  the  moral  excellences,  and  unsubdued  strength  of  wo- 
man. But  for  undaunted  courage,  a  connection  with  a  series  of 
brilliant  achievements,  and  an  exhibition  of  almost  superhuman 
strength  of  character,  under  every  circumstance,  history  furnishes 
but  rare  parallels  to  her  whose  name  stands  at  the  head  of  this 
article.  Nor  can  history  present  a  more  damning  stain  upon 
the  human  character,  than  is  pictured  in  the  details  of  her 
death. 


90  JOANOFARC. 


Jeanne,  or  Joan  d?  Arc,  commonly  called  the  Maid  of  Or- 
leans, was  the  daughter  of  a  poor  peasant  of  Domremy,  a  town 
situated  in  the  north-east  part  of  France,  upon  the  borders  of 
Loraine.  The  poverty  of  her  parents  rendered  her  earlier  years 
a  scene  of  toil  in  menial  services,  and  even  the  rudiments  of  edu- 
cation were  denied  her  by  the  arbitrary  power  of  circumstances. 
Filled  with  that  true  piety  which  burns  \yith  so  pure  a  flame  in 
the  hearts  of  many  of  the  rural  peasantry  of  the  French,  pro- 
vinces, her  mother  was  a  fit  tutor  in  schooling  her  child  in  that 
knowledge  which  is  so  essential  to  the  correct  formation  of 
human  character,  and  she  taught  her  the  mysteries  of  revealed 
religion. 

Joan  was  always  of  a  very  imaginative  temperament ;  and, 
when  yet  a  mere  child,  she  would  often  stray  away  from  her 
companions  into  the  forest  shades,  and-  there  hold  imaginary 
intercourse  with  celestial  visitants.  The  ruling  passion  of  her 
life  was  religion,  and  upon  that  topic  all  her  thoughts,  and  con- 
versation, and  actions  hinged. 

Although  circumscribed  by  poverty  to  a  narrow  and  humble 
sphere,  yet,  as  she  approached  toward  womanhood,  her  rare 
personal  charms  and  strongly-developed  intellect  won  for  her 
the  admiration  and  esteem  of  all.  She  left  her  father's  house, 
and  engaged  as  a  seamstress  in  the  neighboring  town  of  Neuf- 
chateau,  where  she  pursued  her  new  avocation  with  industry  for 
five  years.  Her  beauty  attracted  universal  attention,  and  many 
advantageous  proposals  of  marriage  were  made,  but  by  her 
promptly  refused.  Her  affections  were  too  firmly  set  upon  re- 
ligion to  be  disturbed  by  or  divided  with  the  things  of  earth, 
and  she  sought  no  other  intercourse  than  the  presence  of  angels 
and  saints.  Her  monomania  in  that  respect  increased  with  her 
years  ;  and  with  asseverations  of  truth,  she  frequently  declared 


JOANOFARC.  91 


that  she  had  held  audible  conversation  with  the  angels  Michael 
and  Gabriel,  and  saints  Catherine,  Margaret,  &c. 

She  declared  the  delight  she  experienced  while  sitting  in  the 
solitary  forest  and  listening  with  rapt  attention  to  the  melodies 
of  heaven,  and  seemed  truly  astonished  at  the  fact  that  none 
but  herself  were  permitted  to  enjoy  those  celestial  concerts. 

At  the  age  of  sixteen  another  passion,  equally  strong  with 
religion,  claimed  a  share  of  her  affections. 

This  sentiment  was  patriotism — pure,  unadulterated  love  of 
country,  and  a  sincere  desire  for  the  promotion  of  her  country's 
welfare.  Peculiar  circumstances  conspired  to  render  this  pas- 
sion strong  to  its  fullest  extent,  and  opened  a  wide  field  for  its 
perfect  development.  At  this  time,  (1428,)  England  claimed 
the  sovereignty  of  France,  and  by  the  power  of  the  sword,  and 
the  right  of  might,  held  possession  of  a  greater  part  of  the 
kingdom.  The  Duke  of  Bedford,  uncle  to  Henry  VI.,  the 
reigning  monarch  of  England,  resided  in  Paris,  and  acted  as 
regent  for  his  nephew  ;  while  Charles  VII.,  the  lawful  emperor 
of  France,  by  birth — possession  of  the  throne — and  the  almost 
undivided  love  of  the  people,  was  a  refugee  in  one  of  the  frontier 
towns.  English  troops  were  garrisoned  in  all  the  cities  and  con- 
siderable towns,  and  a  powerful  army  was  daily  extending  its 
unlawful  encroachments.  Cruel  retribution  followed  every  re- 
sistance of  the  inhabitants,  and  fields  and  vineyards,  towns  and 
hamlets,  were  destroyed  by  the  invading  foe. 

These  events  made  a  strong  impression  upon  the  ardent  im- 
agination of  Joan,  and  she  conceived  the  bold  idea  that  she  was 
commissioned  by  heaven  to  be  an  instrument  in  effecting  the 
deliverance  of  her  country.  Conscious  of  what  was  the  proper 
sphere  of  woman,  she  felt  that  her  sex  was  degrading  to  her 
spirit,  for  it  denied  her  the  privilege  of  engaging  in  the  martial 


92  JOANOFARC. 


pursuite  necessary  to  the  fulfilling  of  her  mission.  But  her 
enthusiasm  broke  down  every  barrier,  and  she  engaged  in  every 
manly  exercise  calculated  to  invigorate  her  frame  and  give  her 
that  knowledge  she  so  much  needed  in  the  enterprise  in  which 
she  was  about  to  embark.  She  soon  became  an  unrivaled 
equestrian,  and  managed  her  horse  with  all  the  skill  of  the 
bravest  knight.  These  exercises  gave  an  increased  glow  to  her 
beauty,  and  she  became  an  object  almost  of  adoration.  The 
superstition  of  the  times  invested  her  with  divine  attributes,  and 
the  idea  took  possession  of  the  minds  of  many  of  the  lower  class 
that  she  was  the  Virgin  Mary,  sent  at  this  inauspicious  moment 
to  deliver  France  from  a  foreign  yoke. 

On  the  24th  of  February,  1429,  Joan  first  entered  the  royal 
presence,  and  offered  her  services  in  restoring  to  the  emperor 
his  crown,  and  to  her  country  its  liberty.  Charles  was  at  this 
time  at  Chinon,  a  little  distance  from  Orleans.  The  latter  city 
had  warmly  espoused  his  cause,  and  at  the  time  in  question  was 
strongly  besieged  by  the  English,  led  on  by  the  traitor  Duke  of 
Burgundy,  who  had  been  one  of  the  most  powerful  vassals  of  the 
French  crown. 

The  emperor  had  heard  of  the  extraordinary  young  maiden 
now  before  him,  but  he  had  conceived  her  to  be  a  tattered 
menial,  urged  on  by  fanaticism  that  had  displaced  weak  judg- 
ment from  a  weak  head,  and  at  first  refused  her  an  audience. 
But,  when  assured  that  the  applicant  was  no  crazed  mendicant, 
he  gave  her  permission  to  enter.  The  emperor  was  filled  with 
astonishment ;  nay,  some  secret  impulse  awakened  feelings  of 
awful  reverence  in  his  bosom,  when  the  maiden,  armed  cap-a-pie, 
stood  upright  before  him,  without  paying  even  that  obeisance 
expected  from  every  subject.  She  uncovered  her  head,  and 
her  dark  hair  fell  in  profusion  upon  her  mailed  shoulders.  The 


JOANOFARC.  93 


excitement  of  the  moment  gave  increased  animation  to  her 
countenance,  and  she  seemed  to  the  astonished  monarch  as  a 
lovely  angel,  truly  commissioned  by  Heaven  for  some  mighty 
deed.  Joan  first  broke  silence. 

"  I  come,"  said  she,  "  not  in  the  strength  of  steel,  but  mailed 
in  the  panoply  of  righteousness,  to  offer  my  services  to  my  king 
and  country.  I  ask  not  the  royal  signet  as  a  proof  of  my  com- 
mission ;  my  credentials  are  from  Heaven — my  chief  sovereign, 
the  Lord  God  Omnipotent.  I  have  heard  a  voice  of  wail  go  up 
from  hill  and  valley.  I  have  seen  the  rich  vineyard  trampled 
down  by  mercenary  warriors.  I  have  beheld  the  frequent  glare 
at  midnight  of  consuming  villages  and  hamlets,  and  yet,  amid  all 
this  desolation,  I  have  been  obliged  to  sit  and  sigh  over  the 
weakness  of  my  countrymen,  and  the  uncurbed  strength  of  the 
foe.  The  darkness  has  deepened  over  my  beloved  land,  but 
light  now  streams  upon  it.  The  arm  of  a  woman,  in  the  hands 
of  God  to  effect  a  mighty  deliverance  ;  will  an  earthly  sovereign 
refuse  her  permission  to  lead  his  armies  ?  At  this  moment  the 
walls  of  Orleans  are  giving  way  to  the  battle-axes  of  the  enemy, 
and  Chinon  will  be  next  invested  by  English  soldiers,  and  thus 
the  last  hope  of  France  will  depart.  Heaven  has  issued  its 
mandate ;  be  thine  concurrent,  and  Joan  d'  Arc  will  on  to  the 
rescue  !" 

Charles  hesitated  not  a  moment  in  granting  the  young  enthu- 
siast the  boon  she  asked,  and  preparations  were  immediately 
made  to  execute  the  enterprise.  The  monarch  was  a  man  of 
much  sagacity,  and  he  employed  every  means  to  invest  the 
maiden,  and  everything  appertaining  to  her,  with  a  supernal 
character,  for  he  knew  that  the  prevailing  superstitions  of  the 
time  would,  in  such  a  connection,  give  increased  vigor  to  the 
soldiery.  Everything  being  in  readiness,  the  maid  mounted  a 


94  JOANOFARC. 

white  steed,  and  with  a  banner  of  the  same  hue,  dashed  forward 
at  the  head  of  brave  and  enthusiastic  troops  for  Orleans.  She 
charged  upon  the  enemy  with  terrible  force,  and  despite  the 
most  desperate  efforts  of  the  foe,  she  succeeded  in  entering  the 
beleagured  city.  Fresh  courage  animated  soldiers  and  citizens, 
and  on  the  eighth  of  May,  the  English,  who  had  encompassed 
the  city  for  more  than  six  months,  raised  the  siege,  and  retired 
in  terror  and  confusion.  This  was  but  a  beginning  of  her 
achievement.  A  few  days  after,  she  was  victorious  at  the  battle 
of  Patay,  where  two  thousand  five  hundred  Englishmen  were 
slain,  and  more  than  twelve  hundred  taken  prisoners,  among 
whom  was  the  generalissimo,  the  brave  Talbot.  This,  with  the 
capture  of  Orleans,  was  a  death-blow  to  English  power  in 
France  ;  and  town  after  town  now  opened  its  gates  to  the  French 
troops,  led  on  by  Joan  d'  Arc.  Rheims  at  length  surrendered, 
and  on  the  17th  of  July,  scarcely  five  months  after  this  extra- 
ordinary young  woman  first  grasped  the  sword,  in  her  country's 
cause,  the  dethroned  monarch  was  solemnly  consecrated  and 
crowned  in  the  cathedral  of  this  last  conquered  city. 

Having  executed  the  mission  which  she  deemed  Heaven  to 
have  given  her,  Joan  laid  aside  the  panoply  of  war,  again  assumed 
the  costume  of  her  sex,  and,  in  the  character  of  a  meek  and 
humble  woman,  presented  herself  before  the  emperor,  and 
petitioned  his  leave  for  her  to  retire  to  the  quiet  and  obscurity 
of  her  native  village.  But  the  monarch,  truly  grateful,  entreated, 
and  even  commanded  her  to  remain  in  public  life.  Honors  were 
lavished  upon  her ;  letters  of  nobility  were  granted  to  herself 
and  family;  a  medal  was  struck,  in  commemoration  of  her 
achievements,  and  the  name  of  Joan  d'  Arc  became  familiar  in 
every  place  and  cottage  in  Europe.  At  the  earnest  solicitation 
of  Charles,  she  again  took  command  of  his  troops,  and  for  more 


JOANOFARC.  95 


than  a  year  her  career  was  one  of  brilliant  exploits,  in  contend- 
ing against  the  English,  who  yet  lingered  on  the  borders  of 
France  with  the  vain  hope  of  regaining  the  territory  they  had 
lost. 

But  how  pure  soever  the  spirit,  however  noble  the  soul,  how- 
ever valorous  and  great,  wise  and  good,  an  individual  may  be, 
the  invidious  monster,  jealousy,  will  ever  be  creating  a  progeny 
of  calumniators,  or  worse  foes,  to  frustrate  his  designs  and  eclipse 
his  well-earned  glory.  Such  was  the  case  of  the  Maid  of  Or- 
leans. When  all  was  commotion — when  victory  after  victory, 
in  rapid  succession,  was  working  out  the  political  redemption  of 
France,  all  were  ready,  from  monarch  to  vassal,  to  bow  the  knee 
of  reverence  to  the  instrument  of  good.  But  the  tempest  at 
length  subsided,  and  French  generals  felt  themselves  disgraced 
in  being  led  on  to  battle  by  a  woman ;  and  even  the  French 
monarch  forgot  the  services  of  a  brave  conqueror  in  restoring  to 
him  his  crown,  in  the  reflection  that  she  was  but  a  poor  country 
girl ! 

On  the  24th  of  May,  1430,  while  valorously  defending  Com- 
peigne  from  the  attacks  of  the  army  of  the  Duke  of  Burgundy, 
the  treacherous  governor  shut  her  out  from  the  very  city  she 
was  gallantly  defending  ;  and  after  performing  prodigies  of  valor, 
comparatively  alone,  she  was  overpowered  by  superior  numbers, 
and  compelled  to  surrender  to  the  enemy.  She  fell  into  the 
hands  of  John  of  Luxemburg,  and  a  short  time  afterward,  she 
was  actually  sold  by  him  to  the  Duke  of  Bedford,  for  ten  thou- 
sand livres  !  She  was  then  taken  to  Rouen,  and  there  arraigned 
before  the  ecclesiastical  tribunal,  charged  with  being  a  sorceress. 
From  the  time  of  her  capture  till  the  moment  in  question,  the 
ungrateful  monarch  to  whom  she  had  given  a  crown  and  a  king- 
dom, made  not  a  single  effort  for  her  liberation,  and  the  poor 


96  JOANOFARC. 


girl  was  left  entirely  to  the  mercy  of  a  personal  foe,  and  a  foe 
to  her  common  country. 

At  that  age,  when  even  suspicion  was  sufficient  to  convict 
of  heresy  in  religion,  and  with  such  powerful  accusers  as  charged 
her  with  sorcery,  Joan  had  but  little  mercy  to  expect  from  a 
tribunal  of  corrupt  bigots.  Every  device  was  used  to  afford  suf- 
ficient testimony  to  give  the  coloring  of  an  excuse  to  their  un- 
holy proceedings,  and  she  was  vexed  with  a  thousand  questions 
irrelevant  to  the  subject,  with  the  hope  of  eliciting  some  answer 
that  might  be  construed  into  heresy.  For  nearly  four  months 
she  was  daily  brought  out  of  prison,  where  she  was  kept  on 
bread  and  water,  and  obliged  to  pass  the  ordeal  of  severe  ques- 
tioning— questioning,  often  the  most  absurd.  On  one  occasion 
she  was  asked,  whether  at  the  coronation  of  Charles,  she  had  not 
displayed  a  standard,  consecrated  by  magical  incantation  ? 
She  replied,  "  My  trust  was  in  the  Almighty,  whose  image  was 
impressed  upon  the  banner,  and  having  encountered  the  dangers 
of  the  field,  I  was  entitled  to  share  the  glory  of  Rheims.  I 
serve,"  continued  she,  with  uplifted  hands,  "  I  serve  but  one 
master — acknowledge  but  one  sovereign,  and  he  is  our  com- 
mon Father.  Ye  have  threatened  me  with  excommunication — 
ye  have  threatened  me  with  stripes,  and  chained  me  in  a  dun- 
geon, and  now  ye  threaten  me  with  the  fire  and  fagot.  Ye 
may  burn  this  tabernacle,  but  the  soul  that  dwelleth  in  it,  ye 
cannot  harm  ;  and  that  God  whose  arm  bears  me  up  in  this  af- 
fliction, is  also  your  Judge.  My  faith  is  in  Christ  the  Lord,  and 
your  threatenings  fall  upon  my  ear  and  heart  like  idle  words. 
Do  with  me  as  ye  see  fit — your  reward  will  soon  follow." 

During  all  of  her  examinations,  she  betrayed  no  weakness  ; 
and  when  at  length  she  was  excommunicated  and  sentenced  to 
be  burned  at  the  stake,  her  strength  failed  her  not.  On  the 


JOANOFARC.  97 


12th  of  May,  1431,  she  was  taken  from  the  prison  under  an 
escort  of  one  hundred  and  twenty  armed  men.  She  was  clad  in 
female  apparel,  and  upon  her  head  was  placed  a  paper  crown, 
inscribed,  "  Apostate,  heretic,  idolatress."  She  was  supported 
by  two  Dominican  friars,  and  as  she  passed  through  the 
thronged  streets,  she  exclaimed,  "  Oh,  Rouen  !  Rouen  !  must 
thou  be  my  last  abode  !"  She  uttered  blessings  on  the  people 
as  she  passed,  and  supplicated  Heaven  to  have  mercy  upon  her 
accusers,  judges,  and  executioners.  Seated  upon  the  scaffold 
was  the  English  cardinal  of  Winchester,  the  Bishop  of  Terou- 
anne,  Chancellor  of  France,  Bishop  of  Beauvois,  and  the  other 
judges.  To  these  the  heavily-fettered  maiden  was  delivered ; 
and  she  ascended  the  scaffold  with  her  face  bathed  in  tears. 
Her  funeral  sermon  was  then  preached  ! — yes,  in  view  of  hea- 
ven, a  professed  ambassador  of  the  meek  and  merciful  Jesus — 
preached  the  funeral  sermon  of  a  living,  weak,  defenceless,  inno- 
cent girl  !  and  she  was  then  handed  over  to  the  secular  officers 
to  be  put  to  death.  Before  she  descended  to  mount  the  fatal 
pile,  she  knelt  down  and  prayed  Heaven  to  forgive  all.  Nor 
was  the  ungrateful  Charles  forgotten  in  her  last  moments, 
and  she  invoked  the  blessing  of  Heaven  upon  him  and  her 
country. 

As  she  arose  from  her  knees,  one  of  the  judges  said,  "  take 
her  away !"  and  the  executioner,  trembling  like  an  aspen, 
advanced,  received  her  from  the  guards,  and  led  her  to  the 
funeral  pile.  She  asked  for  a  crucifix,  which  being  given  her, 
she  kissed  it,  and  pressed  it  to  her  bosom.  The  fagots  were 
lighted,  and  in  a  few  moments  she  was  surrounded  with  flames. 
An  awful  silence  pervaded  the  multitude,  and  no  voice  was 
heard  but  that  of  the  dying  martyr,  whose  lips,  until  seared  by 
flames,  uttered  the  name  of  Jesus,  mingled  with  the  groans 


98  JOANOPARC. 


which  the  violence  of  her  anguish  extorted  from  her. — By  order 
of  the  Bishop  of  Winchester,  her  ashes  were  collected  and 
thrown  into  the  river.  • 

Thus  died  this  extraordinary  maiden  at  the  age  of  nineteen 
years,  to  whom,  Hume  justly  observed,  "  the  more  liberal  and 
generous  superstitions  of  the  ancients  would  have  erected 
altars."  This  last  tragedy  in  the  drama  of  her  wonderful 
career,  is  an  eternal  stigma,  not  only  on  the  two  nations  im- 
mediately concerned,  but  upon  the  age  in  which  she  lived  ;  and 
the  actors  in  the  scene,  however  much  they  may  be  robed  in 
sacerdotal  dignity  and  reverence,  should  receive  the  execrations 
of  the  good  in  all  ages,  as  fit  brethren  for  the  Neros  and  Cali- 
gulas  of  ancient  Rome.  Twenty  years  afterward  her  mother 
demanded  and  obtained  a  reversal  of  her  sentence,  and  by  the 
Bishop  of  Paris  her  character  was  fully  cleared  from  every  im- 
putation of  guilt  of  the  crimes  of  which  she  was  accused.  At 
Orleans,  Rouen,  and  various  parts  of  France,  monuments  were 
erected  to  her  honor ;  and  by  a  bull  of  Pope  Calixtus  III.,  she 
was  declared  a  martyr  to  her  religion,  her  country,  and  her 
king. 


6  e  i  1  3    of    6  ^  s  f  i  i  e . 


XSABS&&A 


SHOULD  we  seek  through  the  pages  of  history  for  a  sovereign, 
such  as  the  Supreme  Spirit  of  Good  might  indeed  own  for  his 
vice-regent  here  on  earth,  where  should  we  find  one  more 
blameless  and  beautiful  than  that  of  Isabella  ?  Or,  should  we 
point  out  a  reign,  distinguished  by  great  events  —  events  of  such 
magnitude  as  to  involve  in  their  consequences,  not  particular 
kings  and  nations,  but  the  whole  universe,  and  future  ages  to  the 
end  of  time  —  where  could  we  find  a  reign  such  as  that  of  Isabella, 
who  added  a  new  world  to  her  hereditary  kingdom  ?  Or,  did  we 
wish  to  prove  that  no  virtues,  talents,  graces,  though  dignifying 
and  adorning  a  double  crown  and  treble  sceptre  ;  nor  the  pos- 
session of  a  throne  fixed  in  the  hearts  of  her  people  ;  nor  a  long 
course  of  the  most  splendid  prosperity,  could  exempt  a  great 
queen  from  the  burthen  of  sorrow,  which  is  the  lot  of  her  sex 
and  of  humanity  ;  where  could  we  find  an  instance  so  forcible  as 
in  the  history  of  Isabella  ? 

This  illustrious  woman  was  the  daughter  of  John  the  Second, 
King  of  Castile  and  Leon,  and  born  in  1450,  four  years  before 
the  death  of  her  father.  King  John,  after  a  long,  turbulent, 
and  unhappy  reign,  died  at  Medina-del-Campo,  leaving  by  his 
first  wife,  Maria  of  Arragon,  a  son,  Don  Henry,  who  succeeded 
him  ;  and  by  his  second  wife,  Isabella  of  Portugal,  two  children 
in  their  infancy,  Alphonso  and  Isabella. 

Among  the  many  princes  who  sought  the  hand  of  Isabella, 


102  ISABELLA     OF     CASTILE. 

Don  Ferdinand,  son  of  the  King  of  Arragon,  was  preferred  by 
the  young  princess,  and  their  marriage  was  accordingly  per- 
formed at  Valladolia,  privately — the  king,  her  brother,  Henry 
the  Fourth  of  Castile,  who  was  a  vicious  prince,  and  whose  acts 
of  misgovernment  had  already  led  to  a  general  revolt,  at  the 
head  of  which  was  the  Archbishop  of  Toledo,  and  the  chief 
nobility — being  opposed  to  this  alliance  from  motives  of  interest. 
At  the  period  of  her  marriage,  (in  1469),  Isabella  had  just 
entered  her  twentieth  year.     In  person  she  was  well  formed, 
of  middle  size,  with  great  dignity  and  gracefulness  of  deport- 
ment, and  a  mingled  gravity  and  sweetness  of  demeanor.     Her 
complexion  was  fair ;  her  hair  auburn,  inclining  to  red ;  her  eyes 
were  of  a  clear  blue,  with  a  benign  expression,  and  there  was 
a  singular  modesty  in  her  countenance,  gracing,  as  it  did,  a 
wonderful  firmness  of  purpose  and  earnestness  of  spirit.     She 
exceeded  her  husband  in  beauty,  in  personal  dignity,  in  acute- 
ness  of  genius,  and  grandeur  of  soul.     She  combined  a  mascu- 
line energy  of  purpose  with  the  utmost  tenderness  of  heart,  and 
a  softness  of  temper  and  manner  truly  feminine.     Her  self- 
command  was  not  allied  to  coldness,  nor  her  prudence  to  dis- 
simulation, and  her  generous  and  magnanimous  spirit  disdained 
all  indirect  measures,  and  all  the  little  crooked  arts  of  policy. 
While  all  her  public  thoughts  and  acts  were  princely  and  august, 
her   private   habits   were   simple,   frugal,   and   unostentatious. 
Without  being  learned,  she  was  fond  of  literature ;  and  being 
possessed  of  a  fine  understanding,  had  cultivated  many  branches 
of  knowledge  with  success.     She  encouraged  and  patronized  the 
arts,  and  was  the  soul  of  every  undertaking  which  tended  to 
promote  the  improvement  and  happiness  of  her  subjects.     Her 
only  fault — most  pardonable  in  her  sex,  her  situation,  and  the 
age  in  which  she  lived — was,  that  her  piety  tended  to  bigotry, 


ISABELLA     OF     CASTILE.  103 

and  placed  her  too  much  at  the  disposal  of  her  priestly  advisers. 
This  led  her  into  some  errors,  sad  to  think  of,  and  fraught  with 
'evil  consequences  to  her  people — they  are  a  subject  of  regret — 
they  cannot  be  a  subject  of  reproach  to  this  glorious  creature, 
who,  in  an  age  of  superstition  and  ignorance,  was  sometimes 
mistaken  and  misled,  but  never  perverted. 

Ferdinand,  when  he  received  the  hand  of  Isabella,  was  a  few 
months  younger  than  his  bride.  He  was  of  the  middle  stature, 
well  proportioned,  and  hardy,  from  athletic  exercise ;  his  car- 
riage was  free,  erect,  and  majestic ;  he  had  an  ample  forehead, 
and  hair  of  a  bright  chestnut  color ;  his  eyes  were  clear ;  his 
complexion  rather  florid,  but  scorched  to  a  manly  brown  by  the 
;oils  of  war ;  his  mouth  was  handsome  and  gracious  in  its  ex- 
pression ;  his  voice  sharp ;  his  speech  quick  and  fluent.  His 
courage  was  cool  and  undaunted,  not  impetuous ;  his  temper 
close  and  unyielding,  and  his  demeanor  grave.  His  ambition 
was  boundless,  but  it  was  also  selfish,  grasping,  and  unchecked 
by  any  scruple  of  principle,  any  impulse  of  generosity.  He  had 
great  vigor  of  mind  and  great  promptitude  of  action,  but  he 
never  knew  what  it  was  to  be  impelled  by  a  disinterested  mo- 
tive ;  and  even  his  excessive  bigotry,  which  afterwards  obtained 
for  him  and  his  successors  the  title  of  "  Most  Catholic,"  was  still 
made  subservient  to  his  selfish  views  and  his  insatiate  thirst  for 
dominion.  Yet,  however  repulsive  his  character  may  appear  to 
us  who  can  contemplate  at  one  glance  the  events  of  his  long 
reign,  and  see  his  subtle,  perfidious  policy  dissected  and  laid 
bare  by  the  severe  pen  of  history,  he  did  not  appear  thus  in  the 
eyes  of  Isabella  when  they  met  at  Valladolid.  He  was  in  the 
bloom  of  youth,  handsome,  brave,  and  accomplished  ;  the  vices 
of  his  character  were  yet  undeveloped,  his  best  qualities  alone 
apparent.  Animated  by  the  wish  to  please,  and  no  doubt 


104  ISABELLA     OF     CASTILE. 

pleased  himself  to  find  in  the  woman  whom  ambition  had  made 
his  bride,  all  the  charms  and  excellencies  that  could  engage  his 
attachment,  we  cannot  wonder  that  Ferdinand  at  this  time  ob- 
tained and  long  fixed  the  tenderness  and  respect  of  his  wife, 
whose  disposition  was  in  the  highest  degree  confiding  and  affec- 
tionate. 

The  furious  civil  war  that  had  raged  for  two  or  three  years 
between  King  Henry  and  his  young  brother  Alphonso,  and  his 
partisans,  previous  to  the  marriage  of  Isabella,  had  been  ter- 
minated by  the  death  of  the  prince  at  the  age  of  fifteen,  and 
the  nobles  opposed  to  Henry  then  resolved  to  place  Isabella  at 
their  head.  Isabella  rejected  the  offered  crown,  and  Henry, 
willing  to  purchase  at  any  price,  however  humiliating,  for  a  few 
years  longer,  the  empty  title  of  King,  concluded  a  treaty  with 
the  chiefs,  whereby  he  acknowledged  his  reputed  daughter, 
Joanna,  illegitimate,  setting  aside  her  claims  entirely,  and  de- 
clared Isabella  his  heiress  and  successor. 

When  Henry  found  that  this  marriage  had  been  solemnized 
without  his  knowledge  or  consent,  he  was  struck  with  rage  and 
terror  ;  he  revoked  the  treaty  he  had  made  in  Isabella's  favor, 
declared  his  daughter  Joanna  his  only  legal  heir,  and  civil  war 
again  distracted  and  desolated  the  kingdom  for  more  than  three 
years.  The  death  of  Henry  in  1474,  finally  opened  a.  sure  road 
to  peace  ;  and  Ferdinand  and  Isabella  were  immediately,  and 
almost  without  opposition,  proclaimed  King  and  Queen  of  Castile. 

The  Archbishop  of  Toledo,  who  had  been  so  instrumental  in 
placing  Isabella  on  the  throne,  and  the  chief  negotiator  of  her 
marriage,  believed  himself  now  at  the  summit  of  power,  and 
expected  everything,  from  the  gratitude  and  weakness  of  the 
young  queen,  but  was  surprised  to  find  that  Isabella  was  not  of  a 
character  to  leave  the  government  in  the  hands  of  another.  Dis- 


ISABELLA     OF     CASTILE.  105 

appointed  in  his  ambitious  views,  the  Archbishop  quitted  the 
court  in  a  fit  of  jealousy  and  disgust,  and  threw  himself  into  the 
party  of  Joanna,  whose  pretensions  were  supported  by  the  young 
Marquis  of  Gillena,  and  other  nobles.  Alphonso,  King  of  Por- 
tugal, also  espoused  the  cause  of  Joanna,  and  invaded  Castile 
with  a  powerful  army,  and  Joanna  was  proclaimed  Queen  at 
Placentia.  The  Portuguese  were,  however,  defeated  at  Toro,  by 
Ferdinand,  and  Alphonso  was  obliged  to  retire  to  his  own  king- 
dom. The  disaffected  nobles  submitted  one  after  another  to 
the  power  of  Isabella,  and  Castile  breathed  at  last  from  the 
horrors  of  civil  war. 

The  poor  Princess  Joanna  at  last  sought  refuge  in  a  convent, 
where  she  took  the  veil  at  the  age  of  twenty,  and  died  a  nun. 

Thus  Isabella  remained  without  a  competitor,  and  was  ac- 
knowledged as  Queen  of  Castile  and  Leon  ;  and  three  years 
after  the  battle  of  Toro,  the  death  of  his  father  raised  Ferdinand 
to  the  throne  of  Arragon.  The  kingdoms  of  Castile  and  Arra- 
gon  were  thenceforward  united  indissolubly,  though  still  inde- 
pendent of  each  other.  There  arose  at  first  some  contest 
relative  to  the  order  of  precedence.  Castile  and  Leon  had 
hitherto  been  allowed  the  precedence  over  Arragon  in  all  politi- 
cal transactions  ;  but  Ferdinand  now  insisted  that,  as  king  and 
husband,  his  titles  should  precede  those  of  his  wife. 

It  was  a  very  delicate  point  of  conjugal  and  state  etiquette, 
and  Isabella  was  placed  in  a  difficult  situation  ;  she  conducted 
herself,  however,  with  that  mixture  of  gentleness,  prudence,  and 
magnanimity,  which  distinguished  her  character.  She  acknow- 
ledged, as  a  wife,  the  supremacy  of  Ferdinand,  as  her  husband ; 
in  public  and  private  she  yielded  to  him  all  the  obedience,  honor, 
and  duty  he  could  require,  naming  him  on  every  occasion  her 
lord,  her  master,  her  sovereign ;  but  she  would  not  concede  one 


106  ISABELLA     OF     CASTILE. 

iota  of  the  dignity  of  her  kingdom.  She  maintained  that  the 
Queen  of  Castile  should  never  yield  the  precedence  to  the  King 
of  Arragon,  and  in  the  end  she  overruled  all  opposition.  It  was 
decided  that  in  all  public  acts  promulgated  in  their  joint  names, 
the  titles  of  Castile  and  heon  should  precede  those  of  Arragon 
and  Sicily.  Isabella  managed  this  delicate  affair  with  a  firmness 
which  endeared  her  to  her  Castilian  nobles,  who  were  haughtily 
jealous  of  the  honor  of  their  country  ;  yet  she  upheld  her  rights 
with  so  much  sweetness  and  feminine  address  as  to  gain  rather 
than  lose  in  the  affections  of  her  husband ;  while  her  influence 
in  his  councils,  and  the  respect  of  his  ministers,  were  evidently 
increased  by  the  resolution  she  had  shown  in  maintaining  what 
was  considered  a  point  of  national  honor. 

In  the  same  year  that  the  kingdoms  of  Castile  and  Arragon 
were  united,  Queen  Isabella  was  at  Toledo,  and  gave  birth  to 
her  second  daughter,  the  Infanta  Joanna,  afterwards  the  mother 
of  Charles  the  Fifth. 

The  first  great  event  of  the  reign  of  the  two  sovereigns  was 
the  war  of  Granada.  Hostility  against  the  Moors  seems  to  have 
been  the  hereditary  appanage  of  the  Crown  of  Castile  ;  and  it 
was  one  of  the  principal  articles  in  Isabella's  marriage-treaty, 
that  Ferdinand  should  lead  the  armies  of  the  queen  against  the 
infidels  as  soon  as  the  affairs  of  the  kingdom  allowed  him  to  do 
so.  Isabella  has  always  been  represented  as  a  principal  adviser 
and  instigator  of  this  sanguinary  war,  and,  during  its  continuance, 
the  animating  soul  of  all  the  daring  enterprises  and  deeds  of 
arms  achieved  by  others ;  and  though  the  Spanish  historians 
have  added  this  to  the  rest  of  her  merits,  yet,  disguise  it  as  we 
will,  there  is  something  revolting  to  female  nature  in  the  idea 
of  a  woman  thus  interested  and  engaged  in  carrying  on  a  war, 
not  defensive,  but  offensive,  and  almost  exterminating.  We 


ISABELLA     OF     CASTILE.  Ill 

salvo  de  Cordova)  ;  the  Count  de  Cabra  ;  and  the  Duke  of 
Medina  Sidonia.  All  these  were  in  fact  feudal  sovereigns. 
They  were  often  engaged  in  petty  wars  with  each  other ;  and 
there  was  not  one  of  them  who  could  not  bring  a  small  army  of 
his  own  retainers  into  the  field.  The  Marquis  of  Cadiz  had  im- 
mense possessions  in  Andalusia,  including  even  populous  cities 
and  strong  fortresses.  His  near  neighborhood  to  the  Moors,  and 
frequent  and  mutual  inroads,  had  kept  up  a  constant  feeling  of 
hostility  and  hatred  between  them.  This  nobleman  was  the  first 
to  avenge  the  capture  of  Zahara  ;  and  his  measures  were  taken 
with  equal  celerity  and  secrecy.  He  assembled  his  friends  and 
followers,  made  a  descent  on  the  territories  of  the  enemy,  and 
took  by  storm  the  strong  town  of  Alhama,  situated  within  a  few 
leagues  of  the  Moorish  capital. 

When  the  news  of  the  capture  of  Alhama  was  brought  to 
Granada,  it  filled  the  whole  city  with  consternation.  The  old 
men  tore  their  garments,  and  scattered  ashes  on  their  heads  ; 
the  women  rent  their  hair  and  ran  about  weeping  and  wailing — 
with  their  children  in  their  arms,  they  forced  their  way  into  the 
presence  of  the  king,  denouncing  woe  on  his  head,  for  having 
tl,> is  brought  down  the  horrors  of  war  on  their  happy  and 
beautiful  country.  "  Accursed  be  the  day,"  they  exclaimed, 
"  when  the  flame  of  war  was  kindled  by  thee  in  our  land  !  May 
the  holy  Prophet  bear  witness  before  Allah,  that  we  and  our 
children  are  innocent  of  this  act !  Upon  thy  head,  and  upon 
the  heads  of  thy  posterity  to  the  end  of  the  world,  rest  the  sin 
of  the  destruction  of  Zahara  !"* 

*  The  lament  of  the  Moors  on  the  loss  of  Alhama  is  perpetuated  in  the  little 
Spanish  ballad  so  happily  and  so  faithfully  translated  by  Lord  Byron — 

"  The  Moorish  king  rides  up  and  down 
Through  Granada's  royal  town,"  &c. 


112  ISABELLA     OF     CASTILE. 

Aben  Hassan,  unmoved  by  these  feminine  lamentations,  as- 
sembled his  army  in  all  haste,  and  flew  to  the  relief  of  Alhama  ; 
he  invested  it  with  three  thousand  horse  and  fifty  thousand  foot, 
and  Alhama  would  assuredly  have  been  retaken  by  this  over- 
whelming force,  but  for  the  courage  and  magnanimity  of  a 
woman. 

When  news  was  brought  to  the  Marchioness  of  Cadiz  that  her 
valiant  husband  was  thus  hard  beset  within  the  fortress  of  Al- 
hama— so  that  he  must  needs  yield  or  perish,  unless  succor 
should  be  afforded  him,  and  that  speedily — she  sent  immedi- 
ately to  the  Duke  of  Medina  Sidonia,  the  most  powerful  of  the 
neighboring  chiefs,  requiring  of  him,  as  a  Christian  knight  and 
a  gentleman,  to  fly  to  the  assistance  of  the  marquis.  Now,  be- 
tween the  family  of  the  Duke  and  that  of  the  Marquis  of  Cadiz, 
there  was  an  hereditary  feud,  which  had  lasted  more  than  a 
century,  and  they  were  moreover  personal  enemies  ;  yet,  in 
that  fine  spirit  of  courtesy  and  generosity  which  mingled  with 
the  ferocity  and  ignorance  of  those  times,  the  aid  demanded  with 
such  magnanimous  confidence  by  the  high-hearted  wife  of  De 
Leon,  was  as  nobly  and  as  frankly  granted  by  the  Duke  of 
Medina  Sidonia.  Without  a  moment's  hesitation  he  called  to- 
gether his  followers  and  his  friends,  and  such  was  his  power  and 
resources,  that  five  thousand  horse  and  fifty  thousand  foot  as- 
sembled round  his  banner  at  Seville.  With  this  numerous  and 
splendid  army  he  hastened  to  the  relief  of  Alhama  ere  it  should 
be  overwhelmed  by  the  enemy.  In  fact,  the  small  but  gallant 
band  which  still  held  its  walls  against  the  fierce  attacks  of  the 
Moor,  were  now  reduced  to  the  last  extremity,  and  must  in  a  few 
days  have  capitulated. 

Ferdinand  and  Isabella  were  at  Medina  del  Campo  when 
tidings  successively  arrived  of  the  capture  of  Alhama,  of  the 


ISABELLA     OF     CASTILE.  113 

terrible  situation  of  the  Marquis  of  Cadiz,  and  the  generous 
expedition  of  Medina  Sidonia.  The  king,  when  he  heard  of 
this  vast  armament,  and  the  glory  to  be  acquired  by  the  relief 
of  Alhama,  sent  forward  couriers  to  the  duke  with  orders  to 
await  his  coming,  that  he  might  himself  take  the  command  of 
the  forces  ;  and  then,  with  a  few  attendants,  he  spurred  towards 
the  scene  of  action,  leaving  the  queen  to  follow. 

But  the  Duke  of  Medina  Sidonia  was  not  inclined  to  share 
with  another — not  even  with  his  sovereign — the  glory  of  an  ex- 
pedition undertaken  from  such  motives,  and  at  his  own  care  and 
cost :  moreover,  every  hour  of  delay  was  of  the  utmost  conse- 
quence, and  threatened  the  safety  of  th.e  besieged  ;  instead, 
therefore,  of  attending  to  the  commands  of  the  king,  or  await- 
ing his  arrival,  the  army  of  Medina  Sidonia  pressed  forward  to 
Alhama.  On  the  approach  of  the  Duke,  Aben  Hassan,  who 
had  already  lost  a  vast  number  of  his  troops  through  the  gallant 
defence  of  the  besieged,  saw  that  all  farther  efforts  were  in  vain. 
Gnashing  his  teeth,  and  tearing  up  his  beard  by  the  roots,  with 
choler  and  disappointment,  he  retired  to  his  city  of  Granada. 
Meantime  the  Marquis  of  Cadiz  and  his  brave  and  generous 
deliverer  met  and  embraced  before  the  walls  of  Alhama  ;  the 
Duke  of  Medina  Sidonia  refused  for  himself  and  his  followers 
any  share  in  the  rich  spoils  of  the  city  ;  and  from  that  time 
forth,  these  noble  cavaliers,  laying  aside  their  hereditary  ani- 
mosity, became  firm  and  faithful  friends. 

These  were  the  feats  which  distinguished  the  opening  of  the 
war  ;  they  have  been  extracted  at  some  length,  as  illustrating 
the  spirit  and  manners  of  the  age,  and  the  character  of  this 
memorable  contest.  The  other  events  of  the  war,  except  as  far 
as  Isabella  was  personally  concerned,  must  be  passed  over  more 
rapidly.  She  had  followed  the  king  from  Medina  del  Campo, 


114  ISABELLA     OF     CASTILE. 

and  arrived  at  Cordova  just  as  the  council  was  deliberating  what 
was  to  be  done  with  the  fortress  of  Alhama.  Many  were  of 
opinion  that  it  was  better  to  demolish  it  at  once  than  to  main- 
tain it  with  so  much  danger  and  cost  in  the  midst  of  the  enemy's 
territory.  "  What !"  exclaimed  Isabella,  indignant  that  so 
much  blood  and  valor  should  have  been  expended  in  vain ; 
"  what,  then,  shall  we  destroy  the  first  fruits  of  our  victories  ? 
shall  we  abandon  the  first  place  we  have  wrested  from  the 
Moors  ?  Never  let  us  suffer  such  an  idea  to  occupy  our  minds. 
It  would  give  new  courage  to  the  en<5my,  arguing  fear  or  feeble- 
ness in  our  councils.  You  talk  of  the  toil  and  expense  of  main- 
taining Alhama  ;  did  we  doubt,  on  undertaking  this  war,  that  it 
was  to  be  a  war  of  infinite  cost,  labor,  and  bloodshed  ?  and  shall 
we  shrink  from  the  cost,  the  moment  a  victory  is  obtained,  and 
the  question  is  merely  to  guard  or  abandon  its  glorious  trophy  ? 
Let  us  hear  no  more  of  the  destruction  of  Alhama  ;  let  us  main- 
tain its  walls  sacred,  as  a  strong-hold  granted  us  by  Heaven  in 
the  centre  of  this  hostile  land,  and  let  our  only  consideration 
be,  how  to  extend  our  conquest,  and  capture  the  surrounding 
cities.1'*  This  spirited  advice  was  applauded  by  all.  The  city 
of  Alhama  was  strongly  garrisoned,  and  maintained  thence- 
forward, in  despite  of  the  Moors. 

From  this  time  we  find  Isabella  present  at  every  succeeding 
campaign,  animating  her  husband  and  his  generals  by  her  courage 
and  undaunted  perseverance  ;  providing  for  the  support  of  the 
armies  by  her  forethought  and  economy  ;  comforting  them  under 
their  reverses  by  her  sweet  and  gracious  speeches,  and  pious 
confidence  in  Heaven  ;  and  by  her  active  humanity  and  her 
benevolent  sympathy,  extended  to  friend  and  foe,  softening,  as 
far  as  possible,  the  horrors  and  miseries  of  war.  Isabella  was 

*  Chronicle  of  the  Conquest  of  Granada,  vol.  i.,  p.  81. 


ISABELLA     OF     CASTILE.  115 

the  first  who  instituted  regular  military  surgeons  to  attend  the 
movements  of  the  army,  and  be  at  hand  on  the  field  of  battle. 
These  surgeons  were  paid  out  of  her  own  revenues  ;  and  she 
also  provided  six  spacious  tents,  furnished  with  beds  and  all 
things  requisite,  for  the  sick  and  wounded,  which  were  called  the 
"  Queen's  Hospital." 

Thus,  to  the  compassionate  heart  of  a  woman,  directed  by 
energy  and  judgment,  the  civilized  world  was  first  indebted  for 
an  expedient  which  has  since  saved  so  many  lives,  and  done  so 
much  towards  alleviating  the  most  frightful  evils  of  war. 

It  were  long  to  tell  of  all  the  battles  and  encounters,  the 
skirmishes  and  the  forays,  the  fierce  mutual  inroads  for  massacre 
or  plunder,  which  took  place  before  the  crescent  was  finally 
plucked  down,  and  the  cross  reared  in  its  stead  ;  or,  to  describe 
the  valorous  sieges  and  obstinate  defences  of  the  fortresses  of 
Honda,  Zalea,  Moclin,  and  Baza  ;  nor  how  often  the  banks  of 
the  Xenil  were  stained  with  blood,  while  down  its  silver  current 

' '  Chiefs  confused  in  mutual  slaughter, 
Moor  and  Christian,  roll'd  along  !" 

The  Castilian  sovereigns,  great  as  were  their  power  and  re- 
sources, had  to  endure  some  signal  reverses  ;  the  most  memora- 
ble of  which  was  the  disgraceful  repulse  of  Ferdinand  before  the 
walls  of  Loxa,  in  1482,  and  the  terrible  defeat  of  the  Christians 
in  the  passes  of  the  mountains  of  Malaga,  which  occurred  in 
1483.  On  that  disastrous  day,  which  is  still  remembered  in  the 
songs  of  Andalusia,  three  of  the  most  celebrated  commanders  of 
Castile,  with  the  pride  of  her  chivalry,  were  encountered  by  a 
determined  band  of  Moorish  peasantry.  All  the  brothers  of  the 
Marquis  of  Cadiz  perished  at  his  side  ;  the  Master  of  Santiago 
fled  ;  the  royal  standard-bearer  was  taken  prisoner  ;  and  the 


116  ISABELLA     OF     CASTILE. 

Marquis  of  Cadiz,  and  his  friend  Don  Alonzo  de  Aguilar,  escaped 
with  difficulty,  and  wounded  almost  to  death.  In  truth,  the 
•Moors  made  a  glorious  stand  for  their  national  honor  and  inde- 
pendence ;  and,  had  it  not  been  for  their  own  internal  divisions 
and  distracted  councils,  which  gave  them  over  a  prey  to  their 
conquerors,  their  subjection,  which  cost  such  a  lavish  expendi- 
ture of  blood,  and  toil,  and  treasure,  had  been  more  dearly  pur- 
chased— perhaps  the  issue  had  been  altogether  different. 

The  feuds  between  the  Zegris  and  the  Abencerrages,  and  the 
domestic  cruelties  of  Aben  Hassan,  had  rendered  Granada  a 
scene  of  tumult  and  horror,  and  stained  the  halls  of  the  Al- 
hambra  with  blood.  Boabdil,  the  eldest  son  of  Aben  Hassan, 
(called  by  the  Spanish  historians,  "el  Rey  Chiquito,"  or  "el 
Chico,"  the  little  King),  had  rebelled  against  his  father,  or 
rather  had  been  forced  into  rebellion  by  the  tyranny  of  the 
latter.  The  old  monarch  was  driven  from  the  city  of  Granada, 
and  took  up  his  residence  at  Malaga,  while  Boabdil  reigned  in 
the  Alhambra.  The  character  of  Boabdil  was  the  reverse  of 
that  of  his  ferocious  sire ;  he  was  personally  brave,  generous, 
magnificent,  and  humane ;  but  indolent,  vacillating  in  temper, 
and  strongly  and  fatally  influenced  by  an  old  tradition  or  pro- 
phecy, which  foretold  that  he  would  be  the  last  king  of  his  race, 
and  that  he  was  destined  to  witness  the  destruction  of  the 
Moorish  power  in  Spain.  Roused,  however,  by  the  remonstrances 
of  his  heroic  mother,  the  Sultana  Ayxa,  Boabdil  resolved  to 
signalize  his  reign  by  some  daring  exploit  against  the  Christians. 
He  assembled  a  gallant  army,  and  led  them  to  invade  the  Cas- 
tilian  territory.  In  the  plains  of  Lucena  he  was  met  by  the 
Count  de  Cabra,  who,  after  a  long-contested  and  sanguinary 
battle,  defeated  and  dispersed  his  troops.  Boabdil  himself, 
distinguished  above  the  rest,  not  less  by  his  daring  valor  than  by 


ISABELLA     OF     CASTILE.  117 

his  golden  armor  and  his  turban,  that  blazed  with  jewels,  was 
taken  prisoner,  and  carried  by  the  Count  de  Cabra  to  his  castle 
of  Vaena. 

The  mother  of  Boabdil,  the  Sultana  Ayxa,  and  his  young  and 
beautiful  wife  Morayrna,  had  daily  watched  from  the  loftiest 
tower  of  the  Alhambra  to  see  his  banners  returning  in  triumph 
through  the  gate  of  Elvira  ;  a  few  cavaliers,  fugitives  from  the 
battle  of  Lucena,  and  covered  with  dust  and  blood,  came  spur- 
ring across  the  Vega,  with  the  news  of  his  defeat  and  capture — 
and  who  can  speak  the  sorrow  of  the  wife  and  the  mother  ? 
Isabella  herself,  when  the  tidings  of  this  great  victory  were 
brought  to  her,  wept  in  the  midst  of  her  exultation  for  the 
fate  of  the  Moorish  prince.  She  sent  him  a  message  full  of 
courtesy  and  kindness ;  and  when  the  council  met  to  consider 
whether  it  would  be  advisable  to  deliver  Boabdil  into  the  hands 
of  his  cruel  father,  who  had  offered  large  terms  to  get  him  into 
his  power,  Isabella  rejected  such  barbarous  policy  with  horror. 
By  her  advice  and  influence,  Boabdil  was  liberated  and  restored 
to  his  kingdom,  on  conditions  which,  considering  all  the  circum- 
stances, might  be  accounted  favorable :  it  was  stipulated  that  he 
should  acknowledge  himself  the  vassal  of  the  Castilian  crown ; 
pay  an  annual  tribute,  and  release  from  slavery  four  hundred 
Christian  captives,  who  had  long  languished  in  chains ;  and  that 
he  should  leave  his  only  son  and  the  sons  of  several  nobles  of  his 
family  as  hostages  for  his  faith.  Having  subscribed  to  these 
conditions,  Boabdil  was  received  by  Ferdinand  and  Isabella  at 
Cordova,  embraced  as  a  friend,  and  restored  to  his  kingdom, 
with  gifts  and  princely  honors. 

In  liberating  Boabdil,  the  politic  Ferdinand  was  impelled  by 
motives  far  different  from  those  which  actuated  his  generous 
queen.  He  wisely  calculated  that  the  release  of  the  Moorish 


118  ISABELLA     OF     CASTILE 

prince  would  prove  far  more  advantageous  than  his  detention, 
by  prolonging  the  civil  discords  of  the  kingdom  of  Granada,  and 
"dividing  its  forces.  The  event  showed  he  had  not  been  mis- 
taken. No  sooner  was  Boabdil  restored  to  freedom  than  the 
wrath  of  the  fiery  old  king,  Aben  Hassan,  again  turned  upon 
his  son,  and  the  most  furious  contests  raged  between  the  two 
parties. 

This  was  the  miserable  and  distracted  state  of  Granada,  while 
King  Ferdinand  continued  to  push  his  conquests,  taking  first 
one  city  or  castle,  then  another — ravaging  the  luxuriant  Vega, 
and  carrying  away  the  inhabitants  into  captivity ;  while  Boabdil, 
bound  by  the  treaty  into  which  he  had  entered,  wept  to  behold 
his  beautiful  country  desolated  with  fire  and  sword,  and  dared 
not  raise  his  arm  to  defend  it.  In  the  midst  of  these  troubles, 
old  Aben  Hassan,  becoming  blind  and  infirm,  was  deposed  by 
his  brother  Abdalla  el  Zagal,  who  proclaimed  himself  king; 
and,  denouncing  his  nephew  Boabdil  as  an  ally  of  the  Christians 
and  a  traitor  to  his  faith  and  country,  he  prepared  to  carry  on 
the  war  with  vigor.  The  military  skill  of  El  Zagal  was  equal 
to  his  ferocity ;  and  the  Christians  found  in  him  a  determined 
and  formidable  opponent. 

The  fortress  of  Honda,  in  the  Serrania,  which  had  long  been 
considered  impregnable  from  its  strength  and  situation,  was 
taken  from  the  Moors  in  1485,  after  a  long  and  fierce  resistance. 
The  isolated  rock  on  which  this  strong-hold  was  perched,  like  the 
aery  of  the  vulture,  was  hollowed  into  dungeons  deep  and  dark, 
in  which  were  a  vast  number  of  Christian  captives,  who  had  been 
taken  in  the  Moorish  forays.  It  is  recorded  that  among  them 
were  several .  young  men  of  high  rank,  who  had  surrendered 
themselves  slaves  in  lieu  of  their  parents,  not  being  able  to  pay 
the  ransom  demanded ;  and  many  had  pined  for  years  in  these 


ISABELLA     OF     CASTILE.  119 

receptacles  of  misery.  Being  released  from  their  fetters,  they 
were  all  collected  together,  and  sent  to  the  queen  at  Cordova. 
When  Isabella  beheld  them  she  melted  into  tears.  She  ordered 
them  to  be  provided  with  clothes  and  money,  and  all  other 
necessaries,  and  conveyed  to  their  -respective  homes ;  while  the 
chains  they  had  worn  were  solemnly  suspended  in  the  church  of 
St.  John,  at  Toledo,  in  sign  of  thanksgiving  to  Heaven.  This 
was  the  spirit  in  which  Isabella  triumphed  in  success — an 
instance  of  the  gentle  and  magnanimous  temper  with  which  she 
could  sustain  a  reverse  which  occurred  soon  afterward. 

A  short  time  after  the  siege  of  Honda,  Isabella  took  up 
her  residence  at  Vaena,  a  strong  castle  on  the  frontiers  of 
Andalusia,  belonging  to  the  renowned  and  valiant  Count  de 
Cabra,  the  same  who  had  won  the  battle  of  Lucena  and  taken 
Boabdil  prisoner.  The  influence  which  Isabella  exercised  over 
her  warlike  nobles  was  not  merely  that  of  a  queen,  but  that  of 
a  beautiful  and  virtuous  woman,  whose  praise  was  honor,  and 
whose  smiles  were  cheaply  purchased  by  their  blood.  The 
Count  de  Cabra,  while  he  entertained  his  royal  and  adored  mis- 
tress within  his  castle  walls,  burned  to  distinguish  himself  by 
some  doughty  deed  of  arms,  which  should  win  him  grace  and 
favor  in  her  eyes.  The  Moor  El  Zagal  was  encamped  near 
Moclin  ;  to  capture  another  king,  to  bring  him  in  chains  to  the 
feet  of  his  mistress — what  a  glorious  exploit  for  a  Christian 
knight  and  a  devoted  cavalier !  The  ardent  count  beheld  only 
the  hoped  success — he  overlooked  the  dangers  of  the  under- 
taking. With  a  handful  of  followers,  he  attacked  the  fierce  El 
Zagal — was  defeated — and  himself  and  his  retainers  driven  back 
upon  Vaena,  with  "  rout  and  confusion  following  at  their  heels." 

Isabella  waited  the  issue  of  this  expedition  within  the  walls  of 
the  castle.  She  was  seated  in  the  balcony  of  a  lofty  tower,  over- 


120  ISABELLA     OF     CAS  TILE. 

looking  the  vale  beneath,  and  at  her  side  were  her  daughter 
Isabella  and  her  infant  son  Don  Juan.     Her  chief  minister  and 
'  counsellor,  the  venerable   Cardinal   Mendoza,  stood  near   her. 
They  looked  along  the  mountain-road  which  led  towards  Moclin, 
and  beheld  couriers  spurring  their  steeds  through  the  denies  with 
furious  haste,  and  gallopiug  into  the  town  ;  and  in  the  same  mo- 
ment the  shrieks  and  wailings  which  rose  from  below  informed 
Isabella  of  the  nature  of  their  tidings  ere  they  were  summoned 
to  her  presence.    For  a  moment  her  tenderness  of  heart  pre- 
vailed over  her  courage  and  fortitude ;  the  loss  of  so  many 
devoted  friends,  the  defeat  of  one  of  her  bravest  knights,  the 
advantage   and  triumph  gamed  by  the  enemy  almost   in   her 
presence,  and  the  heart-rending  lamentations  of  those  who  had 
lost  sons,  brothers,  lovers,  husbands,  in  this  disastrous  battle, 
almost  overwhelmed  her.     But  when  some  of  the  couriers  pre- 
sent endeavored  to  comfort  her  by  laying  the  blame  on  the  rash- 
ness of  De  Cabra,  and  would  have  lessened  him  in  her  opinion, 
she  was  roused  to  generous  indignation  : — "  The  enterprise,"  she 
said,  "  was  rash,  but  not  more  rash  than  that  of  Lucena,  which 
had  been  crowned  with  success,  and  which  all  had  applauded  as 
the  height  of  heroism.     Had  the  Count  de  Cabra  succeeded  in 
capturing  the  uncle,  as  he  did  the  nephew,  who  would  not  have 
praised  him  to  the  skies  r" 

The  successful  enterprise  of  the  Christians  against  Zalea  con- 
cluded the  eventful  campaign  of  1485.  Isabella  retired  from 
the  seat  of  war  to  Alcada  de  Henares,  where,  in  the  month  of 
December,  she  gave  birth  to  her  third  daughter,  the  Infanta 
Catherine  of  Arragon,  afterward  the  wife  of  Henry  the  Eighth 
of  England. 

The  next  year,  1486,  was  one  of  the  most  memorable  during 
the  war.  Early  in  the  spring,  Isabella  and  her  husband  repaired 


ISABELLA     OF     CASTILE.  121 

to  Cordova,  and  a  gallant  and  splendid  array  of  the  feudal  chief- 
tains of  Castile  assembled  round  them.  That  ancient  city,  with 
all  the  fair  valley  along  the  banks  of  the  Guadalquiver,  resounded 
with  warlike  preparation  ;  the  waving  of  banners,  the  glancing 
of  spears,  the  flashing  of  armor,  the  braying  of  trumpets,  the 
neighing  of  steeds,  the  gorgeous  accoutrements  of  the  knights 
and  their  retainers,  must  have  formed  a  moving  scene  of  sur- 
passing interest  and  magnificence.  There  was  the  brave  Mar- 
quis of  Cadiz,  justly  styled  the  mirror  of  Andalusian  chivalry. 
When  the  women  who  were  obliged  to  attend  Queen  Isabella  to 
the  wars,  and  who  possessed  not  her  noble  contempt  of  danger, 
beheld  the  Marquis  of  Cadiz,  they  rejoiced,  and  felt  secure  under 
the  protection  of  one  so  renowned  for  his  courtesy  to  their  sex, 
and  of  whom  it  was  said,  that  no  injured  woman  had  ever  ap- 
plied to  him  in  vain  for  redress.  There  was  the  valiant  Count 
de  Cabra,  who  had  captured  Boabdil,  and  the  famous  Don 
Alonzo  de  Aguilar,  renowned  for  his  deeds  of  arms  in  history 
and  in  song  ;  and  there  was  his  brother  Gonsalvo  de  Cordova, 
then  captain  of  Isabella's  guards.  There  was  the  young  Duke 
of  Infantado,  with  his  five  hundred  followers,  all  glittering  in 
silken  vests  and  scarfs,  and  armor  inlaid  with  silver  and  gold ; 
and  the  Duke  of  Medina  Sidonia,  and  the  Duke  of  Medina  Celi, 
names  at  once  so  harmonious  in  their  sound,  and  so  chivalrous  in 
their  associations,  that  they  dwell  upon  the  ear  like  the  pro- 
longed note  of  a  silver  clarion.  Besides  these,  were  many 
worthy  cavaliers  of  England,  France,  and  Germany,  who  were 
induced  partly  by  the  fame  of  this  holy  expedition,  (such  it 
was  then  deemed),  partly  by  the  wish  to  distinguish  themselves 
in  the  sight  of  a  beautiful  and  gracious  queen,  to  join  the  ban- 
ners of  Isabella  and  Ferdinand,  at  Cordova.  The  most  conspic- 
uous of  these  foreign  auxiliaries  was  Lord  Rivers  of  England,  a 


122  ISABELLA     OF     CASTILE. 

0 

near  relation  of  Elizabeth  of  York,  and  the  son  of  that  accom- 
plished Lord  Rivers  who  was  beheaded  at  Pomfret.  After  the 
battle  of  Bosworth-field,  he  joined  the  camp  of  the  Catholic 
sovereigns  with  three  hundred  retainers,  and  astonished  the 
Spaniards  by  the  magnificence  of  his  appointments,  his  courtesy, 
his  valor,  and  the  ponderous  strength  and  determined  courage 
of  his  men.  There  was  also  the  accomplished  French  knight 
Gaston  de  Leon  of  Toulouse,  with  a  band  of  followers,  all  gallant 
and  gay,  "  all  plumed  like  ostriches  that  wing  the  wind,"  and 
ready  alike  for  the  dance  or  the  melee — for  lady's  bower  or  bat- 
tle field — and  many  more. 

The  presence  of  Isabella  and  her  court  lent  to  this  martial 
pomp  an  added  grace,  dignity,  and  interest.  She  was  sur- 
rounded by  many  ladies  of  noble  birth  and  distinguished  beauty, 
the  wives,  or  mothers,  or  sisters  of  the  brave  men  who  were 
engaged  in  the  war.  The  most  remarkable  were,  the  Infanta 
Isabella,  at  this  time  about  fourteen,  and  who,  as  she  grew  in 
years,  became  the  inseparable  companion  and  bosom  friend  of 
her  mother  ;  the  high-minded  Marchioness  of  Cadiz,  and  the 
Marchioness  of  Moya,  both  honored  by  the  queen's  intimacy,  and 
the  latter  eminent  for  her  talents  as  well  as  her  virtues.  A 
number  of  ecclesiastics  of  high  rank  and  influence  also  attended 
on  Isabella.  The  grand  cardinal,  Gonzalez  de  Mendoza,  was 
always  at  her  side,  and  was  at  this  time  and  during  his  life  her 
chief  minister  and  adviser.  He  is  described  as  "  a  man  of  a 
clear  understanding,  eloquent,  judicious,  and  of  great  quickness 
and  capacity  in  business,  simple  yet  nice  in  his  apparel,  lofty 
and  venerable  in  his  deportment."  He  was  an  elegant  scholar, 
but  of  course  imbued  with  all  the  prejudices  of  his  age  and 
calling ;  and  notwithstanding  his  clerical  profession,  he  had  a 
noble  band  of  warriors  in  his  pay.  There  were  also  the  pope's 


ISABELLA     OF     CASTILE.  123 

nuncio,  the  Prior  of  Prado,  the  warlike  Bishop  of  Jaen,  and 
many  others. 

Amid  this  assemblage  of  haughty  nobles  and  fierce  soldiers, 
men  who  knew  no  arts  but  those  of  war,  and  courted  no  glory 
which  was  not  sown  and  reaped  in  blood — amid  all  these  high- 
born dames  and  proud  and  stately  prelates — moved  one  in  lowly 
garb  and  peaceful  guise,  overlooked,  unheeded,  when  not  re- 
pulsed with  scorn  by  the  great,  or  abandoned  to  the  derision  of 
the  vulgar,  yet  bearing  on  his  serene  brow  the  stamp  of  great- 
ness— one  before  whose  enduring  and  universal  fame  the  tran- 
sient glory  of  these  fighting  warriors  faded  away,  like  tapers  in 
the  blaze  of  a  noontide  sun,  and  compared  with  whose  sublime 
achievements  their  loftiest  deeds  were  mere  infant  play.  This 
was  the  man — 

"By  Heaven  design'd 
To  lift  the  veil  that  cover'd  half  mankind" — 

Columbus  ! — he  first  appeared  as  a  suiter  in  the  court  of  Castile 
in  the  spring  o£the  year  1486.  In  the  midst  of  the  hurry  and 
tumult  of  martial  preparation,  and  all  the  vicissitudes  and  press- 
ing exigencies  of  a  tremendous  and  expensive  war,  we  can  hardly 
wonder  if  his  magnificent  but  (as  they  then  appeared)  extrava- 
gant speculations  should  at  first  meet  with  little  attention  or 
encouragement.  During  the  spring  and  autumn  of  this  year  he 
remained  at  Cordova,  but  though  warmly  patronized  by  the  Car- 
dinal Mendozo,  he  could  not  obtain  an  audience  of  the  sove- 
reigns. 

Nor  was  Isabella  to  blame  in  this.  It  appears  that  while 
Ferdinand  proceeded  to  lay  siege  to  Loxa,  the  queen  was  wholly 
engrossed  by  the  care  of  supplying  the  armies,  the  administration 
of  the  revenues,  and  all  the  multiplied  anxieties  of  foreign  and 


124  ISABELLA     OF     CASTILE. 

domestic  government,  which,  in  the  absence  of  Ferdinand,  de- 
volved solely  upon  her.  She  gave  her  attention  unremittingly 
to  these  complicated  affairs,  sparing  neither  time  nor  fatigue, 
and  conducted  all  things  with  consummate  judgment,  as  well  as 
the  most  astonishing  order  and  activity.  It  is  not  surprising 
that,  under  such  circumstances,  Columbus,  then  an  obscure  indi- 
vidual, should  have  found  it  difficult  to  obtain  an  audience,  or 
that  his  splendid  views,  as  yet  unrealized,  should  have  appeared, 
amid  the  immediate  cares  and  interests  and  dangers  pressing 
around  her,  somewhat  remote  and  visionary,  and  fail  to  seize  on 
her  instant  attention. 

In  the  meantime  the  war  proceeded.  Loxa  was  taken  after 
an  obstinate  defence,  and  a  terrible  slaughter  of  the  miserable 
inhabitants.  BoabdU,  "  the  Unlucky,"  was  retaken  at  Loxa, 
but  released  again,  on  renewing  his  oath  of  vassalage,  to  foment 
the  troubles  of  his  wretched  country.* 

After  the  capture  of  Loxa,  Ferdinand  wrote  to  Isabella,  re- 
questing her  presence  in  his  camp,  that  he  might  consult  with 
her  on  the  treatment  of  Boabdil,  and  the  administration  of  their 
new  dominions. 

In  ready  obedience  to  her  husband's  wish,  Isabella  took  her 
departure  from  the  city  of  Cordova  on  the  12th  of  June.  She 
was  accompanied  by  her  favorite  daughter,  the  Princess  Isabella, 
and  a  numerous  train  of  noble  ladies  and  valiant  cavaliers,  with 

*  In  one  of  the  suburbs  of  Loxa,  a  poor  weaver  was  at  his  work  during  the 
hottest  of  the  assault.  His  wife  urged  him  to  fly.  "  Why  should  1  fly  ?"  said  the 
Moor ;  "  to  be  rescued  for  hunger  and  slavery  ?  I  tell  you,  wife,  I  will  abide  here  ; 
for  better  is  it  to  die  quickly  by  the  steel  than  to  perish  piecemeal  in  chains  and 
dungeons."  Having  said  this,  he  coolly  resumed  his  work,  and  was  slain  at  his 
loom  by  the  furious  assailants.— Vide  Conquest  of  Granada.  This  reminds  us  of 
Archimedes,  only  that  the  Moorish  weaver  was  the  greater  philosopher  of  the  two, 
and  did  not  stick  t.:  liis  loom  through  mere  absence  of  mind. 


ISABELLA     OF     CASTILE.  125 

courtiers,  statesmen,  and  prelates  of  rank.  On  the  frontiers  of 
Granada  she  was  met  by  the  Marquis  of  Cadiz,  who,  with  a  gal- 
lant company  of  knights  and  retainers,  had  come  to  escort  her 
through  the  lately-conquered  territories  to  the  camp,  which  was 
now  removed  to  Moclin,  another  formidable  place  of  strength, 
which  Ferdinand  had  invested  with  his  whole  army.  On  her 
journey  thither  Isabella  made  a  short  stay  at  Loxa,  where  she 
and  the  young  Infanta  visited  the  sick  and  wounded  soldiers, 
distributing  among  them  money  and  raiment,  and  medical  aid, 
according  to  their  need.  Thence  Isabella  proceeded  through 
the  mountain-roads  toward  Moclin,  still  respectfully  escorted 
by  the  brave  Marquis  of  Cadiz,  who  attended  at  her  bridle-rein, 
and  was  treated  by  her  with  all  the  distinction  due  to  so  valiant 
and  courteous  a  knight.  When  she  approached  the  camp,  the 
young  Duke  del  Infantado,  with  all  his  retainers,  in  their  usual 
gorgeous  array,  met  her  at  the  distance  of  several  miles  ;  and 
when  they  came  in  view  of  the  tents,  the  king  rode  forth  to  re- 
ceive her,  at  the  head  of  the  grandees,  and  attended  by  all  the 
chivalry  of  his  army,  glittering  in  their  coats  of  mail  and  em- 
broidered vests,  with  waving  plumes,  and  standards  and  pennons 
floating  in  the  summer  air.  "  The  queen,"  says  the  Chronicle, 
"  was  mounted  on  a  chestnut  mule,  in  a  saddle-chair  of  state  ; 
the  housings  were  of  fine  crimson  cloth  embroidered  with  gold  ; 
the  reins  and  head -piece  were  of  satin,  curiously  wrought  with 
needlework.  The  queen  wore  a  skirt  of  velvet  over  petticoats 
of  brocade  ;  a  scarlet  mantle  hung  from  her  shoulders,  and  her 
hat  was  of  black  velvet  embroidered  with  gold."  The  dress  of 
the  young  Infanta  was  all  of  black,  and  a  black  mantilla,  orna- 
mented in  the  Moorish  fashion,  hung  on  her  shoulders.  The 
ladies  of  the  court,  all  richly  dressed,  followed  on  forty  mules. 
The  meeting  between  Ferdinand  and  Isabella  on  this  occasion 


126  ISABELLA     OF     CASTILE. 

was  arranged  with  true  Spanish  gravity  and  etiquette.  Laying 
their  conjugal  character  aside  for  the  present,  they  approached 
each  other  as  sovereigns — each  alighting  at  some  paces'  dis- 
tance, made  three  profound  reverences  before  they  embraced. 
The  queen,  it  is  remarked,  took  off  her  embroidered  hat,  and 
remained  with  her  head  uncovered,  except  by  a  silken  net 
which  confined  her  hair.  Ferdinand  then  kissed  her  respect- 
fully on  the  cheek,  and,  turning  to  his  daughter,  he  took  her  in 
his  arms,  gave  her  a  father's  blessing,  and  kissed  her  on  the  lips. 
They  then  re-mounted,  and  the  splendid  procession  moved  on- 
ward to  the  camp,  the  Earl  of  Kivers  riding  next  to  the  king 
and  queen. 

Isabella  and  her  daughter  were  present  during  the  whole  of 
the  siege  of  Moclin,  which  was  reduced  with  great  difficulty,  and 
principally  through  the  skill  of  the  Lombard  engineers.  It 
appears  that  in  the  use  of  all  fire-arms  the  Spaniards  greatly 
excelled  the  Moors  ;  and  in  the  sciences  of  fortification  and 
gunnery,  which  were  still  in  their  infancy,  the  Italians  at  this 
time  exceeded  all  Europe.  Moclin  fell  before  the  Spanish 
batteries,  and  the  inhabitants  capitulated  ;  and  Isabella  and  her 
husband  entered  the  city  in  solemn  state  with  their  band  of 
warriors.  They  were  preceded  by  the  standard  of  the  cross, 
and  a  company  of  priests,  with  the  choir  of  the  royal  chapel, 
chanting  the  Te  Deum.  As  they  moved  thus  in  solemn  proces- 
sion through  the  smoking  and  deserted  streets  of  the  fallen  city, 
they  suddenly  heard  a  number  of  voices,  as  if  from  under  the 
earth,  responding  to  the  chorus  of  priests,  and  singing  aloud, 
"  Blessed  is  he  that  cometh  in  the  name  of  the  Lord. "  There 
was  a  pause  of  astonishment ;  and  it  was  discovered  that  these 
were  the  voices  of  certain  Christian  captives  who  had  been  con- 
fined in  the  subterraneous  dungeons  of  the  fortress.  Isabella, 


ISABELLA     OF     CASTILE.  127 

overcome  with  a  variety  of  emotions,  wept,  and  commanded  that 
these  captives  should  be  instantly  brought  before  her  ;  she  then 
ordered  them  to  be  clothed  and  comforted,  and  conveyed  in 
safety  to  their  several  homes. 

The  queen  remained  for  some  weeks  at  Moclin,  healing,  as 
far  as  she  was  able,  the  calamities  of  war — introducing  regular 
government  and  good  order  into  her  new  dominions — converting 
mosques  into  churches  and  convents,  and  founding  colleges  for 
the  instruction  and  conversion  of  the  Moors.  It  should  not  be 
omitted,  that  with  all  her  zeal  for  religion,  Isabella  uniformly 
opposed  herself  to  all  measures  of  persecution  or  severity.  The 
oppression  and  cruelty  afterward  exercised  towards  the  con- 
quered Moors  did  not  originate  with  her  ;  but,  on  the  contrai-y, 
were  most  abhorrent  to  her  benign  temper  and  her  natural 
sense  of  justice.  She  was  ever  their  advocate  and  protectress, 
even  while  she  lent  all  the  energies  of  her  mind  to  the  prosecu- 
tion of  the  national  and  religious  war  she  waged  against  them. 
Hence,  she  was  hardly  more  beloved  and  revered  by  her 
Catholic  than  by  her  Moslem  subjects. 

Ferdinand,  meantime,  marched  forward,  and  ravaged  the 
Vega,  even  to  the  very  gates  of  Granada.  He  then  returned 
to  join  the  queen  at  Moclin  ;  and,  at  the  conclusion  of  this  tri- 
umphant campaign,  the  two  sovereigns  retired  to  the  city  of 
Cordova,  leaving  young  Frederick  de  Toledo,  (already  distin- 
guished for  his  military  talents,  and  afterward  the  Duke  of  Alva 
of  terrible  memory,)  to  command  upon  the  frontiers  of  their 
new  conquests. 

From  Cordova,  Isabella  removed  to  Salamanca,  where  the 
plans  and  proposals  of  Columbus  were  for  the  first  time  laid 
before  a  council  appointed  to  consider  them.  •  When  we  read 
in  history  of  the  absurd  reasoning,  the  narrow-minded  objec- 


128  ISABELLA     OF     CASTLXE. 

tions,  the  superstitious  scruples,  which  grave  statesmen  and 
learned  doctors  opposed  to  the  philosophical  arguments  and 
enthusiastic  eloquence  of  Columbus,  we  cannot  wonder  that 
Isabella  herself  should  doubt  and  hesitate.  Her  venerable  min- 
ister, the  Cardinal  Mendoza,  favored  Columbus,  but  her  con- 
fessor, Ferdinand  de  Talavera,  was  decidedly  inimical  to  all 
plans  of  discovery,  and  by  his  private  influence  over  the  queen, 
he  was  enabled  to  throw  a  thousand  impediments  in  the  way  of 
the  great  navigator,  and  defer  his  access  to  Isabella. 

The  winter  passed  away  before  the  council  at  Salamanca  came 
to  any  decision.  Early  in  the  spring  of  1487,  King  Ferdinand 
took  the  field  with  twenty  thousand  cavalry  and  fifty  thousand 
foot ;  while  Isabella  remained  at  Cordova,  to  preside  as  usual 
over  the  affairs  of  government,  and  make  arrangements  for  con- 
veying to  this  vast  army  the  necessary  and  regular  supplies.  It 
was  the  design  of  Ferdinand  to  attack  Malaga,  the  principal  sea- 
port of  Granada,  and  the  second  city  of  the  kingdom,  and  thus 
cut  off  any  succors  that  might  be  expected  from  the  Mahometan 
states  of  Africa.  It  was  necessary  to  reduce  several  strong 
places  before  the  army  could  invest  the  city  of  Malaga,  and 
among  others,  Velez  Malaga.  Before  this  last-mentioned  town, 
the  king  exhibited  a  trait  of  personal  valor  which  had  nearly 
proved  fatal  to  him.  The  camp  being  endangered  by  a  sudden 
attack  of  the  Moors,  he  rushed  into  the  battle,  armed  only  with 
his  lance  ;  his  equery  was  slain  at  his  side,  and  Ferdinand  in- 
stantly transfixed  with  his  spear  the  Moor  who  had  killed  his 
attendant.  He  was  thus  left  without  a  weapon,  surrounded  by 
the  enemy,  and,  had  not  the  Marquis  of  Cadiz  and  others  of 
his  nobles  galloped  to  his  rescue,  he  must  have  perished.  On  his 
return  to  the  camp  in  safety,  he  made  a  vow  to  the  Virgin,  never 
again  to  enter  the  battle  without  his  sword  girded  to  his  side 


ISABELLA     OF     CASTILE.  129 

When  Isabella  was  informed  of  this  incident,  she  was  greatly 
agitated.  The  gallantry  and  danger  of  her  husband  appear  to 
have  left  a  strong  impression  on  her  imagination,  for  long  after- 
ward she  granted  to  the  inhabitants  of  Velez  Malaga,  as  the 
arms  of  their  city,  an  escutcheon,  representing  the  figure  of  the 
king  on  horseback,  with  the  equery  dead  at  his  feet,  and  the 
Moors  flying  before  him. 

In  the  beginning  of  May,  Ferdinand  undertook  the  memorable 
siege  of  Malaga,  which  lasted  more  than  three  months.  The 
city  was  strongly  fortified,  and,  contrary  to  the  wishes  of  the 
opulent  and  peaceful  merchants,  was  most  obstinately  defended 
by  Hamet  el  Zegri,  a  valiant  old  Moor,  who  had  the  command 
of  the  garrison.  To  him  the  horrible  sufferings  inflicted  on  the 
inhabitants  by  a  protracted  siege  appeared  quite  unworthy  the 
consideration  of  a  soldier,  whose  duty  it  was  to  defend  the  for- 
tress intrusted  to  him.  The  difficulties,  dangers,  and  delays 
which  attended  this  siege,  so  dispirited  the  Spaniards,  that  many 
thought  of  abandoning  it  altogether.  A  report  that  such  was 
the  intention  of  the  sovereigns  was  circulated  among  the  Chris- 
tians and  the  Moors,  and  gave  fresh  courage  to  the  latter.  To 
disprove  it  in  the  sight  of  both  nations,  Queen  Isabella,  attended 
by  her  daughter  and  the  whole  retinue  of  her  court,  arrived  to 
take  up  her  residence  in  the  camp. 

Isabella  was  received  by  her  army  with  shouts  of  exultation. 
Immediately  on  her  arrival,  she  gave  a  proof  of  the  benignity 
of  her  disposition,  by  entreating  that  the  attacks  on  the  city 
might  be  discontinued,  and  offers  of  peace  sent  in  her  name  to 
the  besieged.  The  firing  accordingly  ceased  for  that  day,  and 
gladly  ivould  the  inhabitants  of  Malaga  have  accepted  her  over- 
tures ;  but  the  fierce  Hamet  el  Zegri  disdainfully  rejected  them, 


130  ISABELLA     OF     CASTILE. 

and  even  threatened  with  death  the  first  person  who  should  pro- 
pose to  capitulate. 

The  Marquis  of  Cadiz  invited  the  queen  and  the  infanta  to  a 
banquet  in  his  tent,  which  crowned  with  its  floating  banners  and 
silken  draperies  the  summit  of  a  lofty  hill,  opposite  to  the  citadel 
of  Malaga.  While  he  was  pointing  out  to  Isabella  the  various 
arrangements  of  the  royal  camp,  which,  filled  with  warlike  tumult 
the  valley  at  their  feet — while  he  was  explaining  the  operations 
of  the  siege,  the  strong  defences  of  the  city,  and  the  effects  of 
the  tremendous  ordnance — he  suddenly  beheld  from  one  of  the 
enemy's  towers  his  own  family-banner  hung  out  in  scorn  and 
defiance  ;  it  was  the  same  which  had  been  captured  by  the 
Moors,  in  the  terrible  defeat  among  the  mountains,  in  1483. 
Whatever  the  marquis  might  have  felt  at  this  insult  offered  to 
him  in  the  presence  of  his  queen  and  the  noblest  ladies  of  her 
court,  he  suppressed  his  indignation.  While  his  kinsmen  and 
followers  breathed  deep  vows  of  revenge,  he  alone  maintained  a 
grave  silence,  and  seemed  unmindful  of  the  insolent  taunt ;  but 
within  a  few  days  afterward,  the  tower  from  which  his  banner 
had  been  displayed  in  mockery,  lay  a  heap  of  ruins. 

While  Isabella  remained  in  the  camp  before  Malaga,  her  life, 
which  her  virtues  had  rendered  dear  and  valuable  to  her  people, 
had  nearly  been  brought  to  a  tragical  close.  A  Moorish  fanatic 
named  Agcrbi,  who  had  among  his  own  people  the  reputation  x>f 
a  santon,  or  holy  prophet,  undertook  to  deliver  his  country  from 
its  enemies.  He  found  means  to  introduce  himself  into  the 
Christian  camp,  where  his  wild  •  and  mysterious  appearance  ex- 
cited equal  astonishment  and  curiosity  ;  he  pretended  to  the  gift 
of  prophecy,  and  required  to  be  conducted  to  the  king  and  queen, 
to  whom  he  promised  to  reveal  the  event  of  the  siege  and  other 
secrets  of  importance.  By  command  of  the  Marquis  of  Cadiz, 


ISABELLA     OF     CASTILE.  131 

he  was  conducted  to  the  royal  tents.  It  happened,  fortunately, 
that  the  king  was  then  asleep.  The  queen,  though  impatient  and 
curious  to  behold  this  extraordinary  prophet,  of  whom  her  at- 
tendants had  made  such  a  wonderful  report,  yet,  with  her  usual 
delicacy  toward  her  husband,  refused  to  receive  the  Moor,  or 
listen  to  his  communications,  until  the  king  should  wake  ;  he 
was,  therefore,  conducted  into  a  tent  in  which  the  Marchioness 
of  Moya  and  Don  Alvaro  were  playing  at  chess — a  few  at- 
tendants were  standing  round.  From  the  dress  and  high  bear- 
ing of  these  personages,  and  the  magnificent  decorations  of  the 
pavilion,  the  Moorish  santon  believed  himself  in  presence  of  the 
king  and  queen  ;  and  while  they  were  gazing  on  him  with  wonder 
and  curiosity,  he  drew  a  cimeter  from  beneath  his  robe,  struck 
Don  Alvaro  to  the  earth,  and  turning  on  the  marchioness,  aimed 
a  blow  at  her  head,  which  had  been  fatal,  if  the  point  of  his 
weapon  had  not  caught  in  the  hangings  of  the  tent,  and  thus 
arrested  its  force,  so  that  it  lighted  harmless  on  the  golden 
ornaments  in  her  hair.  This  passed  like  lightning.  In  the  next 
moment  the  assassin  was  flung  to  the  earth  by  a  friar  and  the 
queen's  treasurer,  and  instantly  massacred  by  the  guards,  who 
rushed  in  upon  hearing  the  deadly  struggle.  The  soldiers,  in  a 
paroxysm  of  indignation,  seized  on  his  body,  and  threw  it  into 
the  city  from  one  of  their  military  engines.  Don  Alvaro  re- 
covered from  his  wound,  and  an  additional  guard,  composed  of 
twelve  hundred  cavaliers  of  rank,  was  stationed  round  the  royal 
tents.  Isabella,  though  struck  at  first  with  consternation  and 
horror  at  this  treacherous  attempt  on  her  life,  was  still  anxious 
to  spare  the  miserable  inhabitants  of  Malaga.  By  her  advice, 
terms  of  capitulation  were  again  offered  to  the  city,  but  in  vain  ; 
Hamet  el  Zegri,  encouraged  by  a  certain  Moorish  necromancer 
whom  he  entertained  in  his  household,  and  who  fed  him  with 


132  ISABELLA     OF     CASTILE. 

false  hopes  and  predictions,  again  rejected  her  overtures  with 
contempt. 

It  appears,  that  among  those  who  joined  the  court  of  Isabella 
before  Malaga,  was  Columbus,  whose  expenses  on  this  occasion 
were  defrayed  from  the  royal  treasury.*  But  amid  the  clash 
and  din  of  arms,  and  the  dangers  and  anxieties  of  the  siege — 
the  murderous  sallies  and  fierce  assaults,  only  relieved  now  and 
then  by  solemn  religious  festivals,  or  by  the  princely  banquets 
given  by  the  various  commanders  at  their  respective  quarters — 
there  was  no  time  to  bestow  on  the  considerations  of  plans  for 
the  discovery  of  distant  worlds  ;  the  issue  of  a  long  and  terrible 
war  hung  upon  the  event  of  an  hour,  and  the  present  crisis  en- 
grossed the  thoughts  of  all. 

In  the  meantime  the  siege  continued — famine  raged  within 
the  city,  and  the  people,  seized  with  despair,  were  no  longer 
restrained  by  the  threats  or  the  power  of  Hamet  el  Zegri.  They 
pursued  him  with  curses  and  lamentations  as  he  rode  through 
the  streets — mothers  threw  down  their  starving  infants  before 
his  horses.  "  Better,"  they  exclaimed,  "  that  thou  shouldst 
trample  them  to  death  at  once,  than  that  we  should  behold  them 
perish  by  inches,  and  listen  to  their  famished  cries."  Hamet, 
unable  to  stem  the  tide  of  popular  fury,  withdrew  into  the 
fortress  of  the  citadel,  called  the  Gibralfaro,  and  abandoned  the 
town  and  its  inhabitants  to  their  fate ;  they  immediately  sur- 
rendered at  discretion,  and  were  forced  to  ransom  themselves 
from  slavery  on  hard  and  cruel  terms,  which  very  few  were  able 
to  fulfill.  The  fortress  yielded  soon  afterward.  Hamet  el  Zegri 
was  thrown  into  a  dungeon,  and  the  garrison  sold  into  slavery. 
Sixteen  hundred  Christian  captives  were  found  in  the  city  of 
Malaga ;  they  were  sent  to  Queen  Isabella,  as  the  most  accept- 

*  Vide  Life  and  Voyages  of  Columbus. 


ISABELLA     OF     CASTILE.  133 

able  trophy  of  her  success ;  and  yet  the  same  Isabella,  who 
received  these  poor  people  with  compassionate  tenderness — who 
took  off  their  fetters  with  her  own  hands,  relieved  their  wants, 
and  restored  them  to  their  families  and  houses — the  same 
Isabella  sent  fifty  beautiful  Moorish  girls  as  a  present  to  the 
Queen  of  Naples — thirty  to  the  Queen  of  Portugal,  and  others 
she  reserved  for  herself  and  for  the  favorite  ladies  of  her  house- 
hold. 

In  the  following  year  (1488)  Ferdinand  led  his  army  to 
attack  the  Moors  on  the  eastern  side  of  Granada.  This  campaign 
was  short,  and  by  no  means  successful,  owing  to  the  military 
prowess  of  El  Zagal,  who  ruled  in  these  provinces.  Isabella 
spent  the  ensuing  winter  at  Saragossa  and  Valladolid,  occupied 
in  the  domestic  affairs  of  her  kingdom,  and  in  the  education  of 
her  children.  Voltaire  asserts,  that  Isabella  and  her  husband 
"  neither  loved  nor  hated  each  other,  and  that  they  lived 
together  less  as  husband  and  wife  than  as  allied  and  independent 
sovereigns;"  but  on 'closer  examination  of  their  history,  this 
does  not  appear  to  be  true.  Isabella's  marriage  had  been  a 
union  of  inclination  as  well  as  of  policy.  In  her  youth  she  had 
both  loved  and  admired  her  husband.  As  his  cold  and  selfish 
character  disclosed  itself,  she  may  possibly  have  felt  her  esteem 
and  affection  decline ;  and  it  is  remarked  by  Voltaire  himself, 
that  she  deeply  suffered  as  a  woman  and  a  wife,  not  only  from 
her  husband's  coldness,  but 'from  his  frequent  infidelities.  Yet, 
if  they  had  private  disagreements,  they  were  never  betrayed  to 
the  prying  eyes  of  the  courtiers.  In  this  respect  she  maintained 
her  own  dignity  and  his  with  admirable  self-command.  She 
found  consolation  for  her  domestic  sorrows  in  the  society  of  her 
eldest  daughter,  the  Infanta  Isabella,  and  in  the  excellent 
qualities  of  her  son  Don  Juan.  Her  second  daughter,  Joanna, 


134  ISABELLA     OF     CASTILE. 

had  been  from  her  infancy  subject  to  fits,  which  in  the  course  of 
years  disordered  her  intellect.  Her  youngest  daughter,  Catherine, 
who  has  obtained  a  mournful  celebrity  in  history  as  Catherine 
of  Arragon,  was  about  this  time  demanded  in  marriage  by 
Henry  VII.  of  England  for  his  son  Prince  Arthur.  This  infant 
marriage  sealed  a  commercial  and  political  treaty  between  the 
two  countries,  which  remained  unbroken  till  the  time  of  Philip 
II.  and  Queen  Elizabeth. 

The  year  1489  was  rendered  memorable  by  the  siege  of 
Baza,  a  fortress  situated  on  the  eastern  confines  of  Granada. 
On  the  reduction  of  this  place  depended  the  event  of  the  war, 
and  the  king  invested  it  with  an  army  of  twenty-five  thousand 
men.  While  he  was  before  the  place,  displaying  his  military 
skill,  and  leading  on  his  gallant  chivalry,  a  far  more  difficult 
task  devolved  on  Queen  Isabella ;  she  had  to  attend  to  the 
affairs  of  government,  and  at  the  same  time  to  provide  all  things 
for  supplying  a  large  army,  inclosed  in  the  enemy's  country, 
and  to  which  there  was  no  access  but  over  difficult  mountain- 
roads  and  dangerous  passes.  The  incredible  expenses  and  diffi- 
culties she  met  and  overcame,  and  the  expedients  to  which  she 
had  recourse,  give  us  the  most  extraordinary  idea  of  her  talents, 
her  activity,  and  her  masculine  energy  of  mind.  The  under- 
taking was  in  fact  so  hazardous,  that  those  who  usually  con- 
tracted for  the  supply  of  the  army  now  refused  to  do  it  on  any 
terms.  Isabella  was  therefore  left  to  her  own  resources.  She 
constructed  roads  through  the  rugged  mountainous  frontier  for 
the  conveyance  of  the  convoys — she  hired  fourteen  thousand 
mules,  which  were  incessantly  employed  in  the  transport  of 
grain  and  other  necessaries.  To  supply  the  almost  incredible 
expense,  she  had  not  recourse  to  any  oppressive  measures  of  taxa- 
tion ;  many  prelates  and  convents  opened  to  her  their  treasures ; 


ISABELLA     OF     CASTILE.  135 

she  pledged  her  own  plate  ;  and  it  is  related  that  many  wealthy 
individuals  readily  lent  her  large  sums  of  money  on  no  other 
security  than  her  word — such  was  the  character  she  bore  among 
her  subjects,  such  their  confidence  in  her  faith  and  truth. 
"  And  thus,"  says  the  Chronicle,  "  through  the  wonderful  ac- 
tivity, judgment  and  enterprise  of  this  heroic  and  magnanimous 
woman,  a  great  host,  encamped  in  the  heart  of  a  warlike  country, 
accessible  only  over  mountain-roads,  was  maintained  in  continual 
abundance  ;"  and  to  her  the  ultimate  success  of  the  undertaking 
may  be  attributed.  After  the  siege  had  lasted  nearly  seven 
months  at  an  immense  cost  of  treasure  and  waste  of  life,  Isabella 
came  with  her  daughter  and  all  her  retinue,  and  took  up  her 
residence  in  the  camp.  When  from  the  towers  of  Baza  the 
Moors  beheld  the  queen  and  all  her  splendid  train  emerging 
from  the  defiles,  and  descending  the  mountain-roads  in  a  long 
and  gorgeous  array,  they  beat  their  breasts,  and  exclaimed, 
"  Now  is  the  fate  of  Baza  decided  !"  yet  such  was  the  admira- 
tion and  reverence  which  this  extraordinary  woman  commanded 
even  among  her  enemies,  that  not  a  gun  was  fired,  not  a  shaft 
discharged,  nor  the  slightest  interruption  offered  to  her  progress. 
On  her  arrival  there  was  at  once  a  cessation  of  all  hostilities,  as 
if  by  mutual  though  tacit  consent,  and  shortly  after  Baza  sur- 
rendered on  honorable  terms.  The  chief  of  the  Moorish  garrison, 
Prince  Cidi  Yahye,  was  so  captivated  by  the  winning  grace  and 
courtesy  with  which  Isabella  received  him,  that  he  vowed  never 
more  to  draw  his  sword  against  her  ;  the  queen  accepted  him 
as  her  knight,  and  replied  to  his  animated  expressions  of  devo- 
tion with  much  sweetness,  saying,  "  that  now  he  was  no  longer 
opposed  to  her,  she  considered  the  war  of  Granada  as  already 
terminated." 

Baza  surrendered  in  December,  1489,  and  was  soon  followed 


136  ISABELLA     OF     CASTILE. 

by  the  submission  of  the  haughty  Moor  El  Zagal,  who,  driven 
from  place  to  place,  and  unable  any  longer  to  contend  against 
the  Christian  forces,  yielded  up  that  part  of  the  kingdom  of 
Granada  which  yet  acknowledged  him  as  sovereign,  and  did 
homage  to  Ferdinand  and  Isabella  as  their  vassal. 

King  Boabdil  yet  ruled  in  Granada,  and  the  treaty  of  his 
friendship  between  him  and  the  Catholic  king  had  been  duly 
observed  as  long  as  it  suited  the  policy  of  Ferdinand ;  but  no 
sooner  had  El  Zagal  surrendered  than  Boabdil  was  called  upon 
to  yield  up  his  feapital,  and  receive  in  lieu  of  it  the  revenues  of 
certain  Moorish  towns.  Boabdil  might  possibly  have  accepted 
these  terms,  but  the  citizens  of  Granada  and  the  warriors  who 
had  assembled  within  it,  rose  up  against  him,  and  under  the  com- 
mand of  Muza,  a  noble  and  valiant  Moor,  they  returned  a 
haughty  defiance  to  Ferdinand,  declaring  that  they  would  perish 
beneath  the  walls  of  then-  glorious  city,  ere  they  would  surren- 
der the  seat  of  Moorish  power  into  the  hands  of  unbelievers. 
Ferdinand  and  Isabella  deferred  for  a  time  the  completion  of 
their  conquest,  and  retired  after  this  campaign  to  the  city  of 
Seville.  In  the  spring  of  1490,  the  Infanta  Isabella  was  united 
to  Don  Alphonso,  the  Prince  of  Portugal ;  and  for  some  weeks 
after  the  celebration  of  these  nuptials,  the  court  at  Seville  pre- 
sented a  continual  scene  of  splendor  and  revelry,  banquets, 
feasts,  and  tournaments.  In  the  midst  of  these  external  re- 
joicings the  heart  of  Isabella  bled  over  her  approaching  separa- 
tion from  her  beloved  daughter,  and  the  young  princess  herself 
wore  a  look  of  settled  melancholy,  which  seemed  prophetic  of 
the  woes  of  her  short-lived  marriage. 

It  was  just  at  this  crisis  that  Columbus  renewed  his  solicita- 
tions, and  pressed  for  a  decided  answer  to  his  propositions.  He 
was  referred  as  before  to  a  council  or  board  of  inquiry,  and  the 


ISABELLA     OF     CASTILE.  137 

final  report  of  this  committee  of  "  scientific  men"  is  too  edify- 
ing to  be  omitted  here.  It  was  their  opinion,  "  that  the 
scheme  proposed  was  vain  and  impossible,  and  that  it  did  not 
become  such  great  princes  to  engage  in  an  enterprise  of  the 
kind,  on  such  weak  grounds  as  had  been  advanced."* 

Notwithstanding  this  unfavorable  report,  and  the  ill  offices  of 
Fernando  de  Talavera,  the  sovereigns  did  not  wholly  dismiss 
Columbus,  but  still  held  out  a  hope  that  at  a  future  period,  and 
after  the  conclusion  of  the  war,  they  would  probably  renew  the 
treaty  with  him.  But  Columbus  had  been  wearied  and  dis- 
gusted by  his  long  attendance  on  the  court,  and  he  would  no 
longer  listen  to  these  evasive  and  indefinite  promises.  He  quitted 
Seville  in  deep  disappointment  and  indignation,  at  the  very  time 
that  Ferdinand  and  Isabella  were  assembling  the  army  destined 
for  the  siege  of  Granada,  little  suspecting,  that  while  they  were 
devoting  all  their  energies  and  expending  all  their  resources  in 
the  conquest  of  a  petty  kingdom,  they  were  blindly  rejecting 
the  acquisition  of  a  world. 

On  the  llth  of  April,  1491,  King  Ferdinand  tool  the  field 
for  this  last  campaign.  His  army  consisted  of  forty  thousand  in- 
fantry and  ten  thousand  cavalry.  He  was  accompanied  by  his 
son,  Don  Juan,  then  a  fine  youth  of  sixteen,  and  by  all  the 
chivalry  of  Castile  and  Arragon,  including  the  Marquis  of 
Cadiz,  and  the  Marquis  of  Villena — the  Counts  de  Cabre,  de 
Tendilla,  Cifuentes,  and  Urefla,  Don  Alonzo  de  Aguilar,  and 
Gonsalvo  de  Cordova,  all  names  renowned  in  the  annals  of 
Spain.  Isabella  with  her  family  and  retinue  remained  for  a 
time  at  Alcala  la  Real,  a  strong  place  on  the  frontiers  ;  but 
they  soon  afterward  quitted  this  fortress,  and  took  up  their 

*  Vide  Life  and  Voyages  of  Columbus. 


I 

.  P- 


138  ISABELLA     OF     CASTILE. 

residence  in  the  camp  before  Granada.  The  Moors,  excited  by 
the  enthusiasm  and  example  of  Muza,  their  heroic  commander, 
defended  their  city  with  courageous  obstinacy,  and  the  environs 
of  Granada  were  the  scene  of  many  romantic  exploits  and  re- 
nowned deeds  of  arms.  One  or  two  of  these  adventures,  in  which 
Isabella  was  personally  interested,  ought  to  find  a  place  here. 

It  happened  on  a  certain  day,  when  the  siege  had  already 
lasted  about  two  months,  that  a  fierce  Moorish  chief,  named  El 
Tarfe,  made  a  sally  from  the  walls,  with  a  band  of  followers. 
He  galloped  almost  alone  up  to  the  Christian  camp,  leaped  the 
intrenchments,  flung  his  lance  into  the  midst  of  the  royal  tents, 
and  then  turning  his  horse,  sprung  again  over  the  barriers,  and 
galloped  back  to  the  city  with  a  speed  which  left  his  pursuers 
far  behind.  When  the  tumult  of  surprise  had  ceased,  the 
lance  of  El  Tarfe  was  found  quivering  in  the  earth,  and  affixed 
to  it  a  label,  purporting  that  it  was  intended  for  the  Queen 
Isabella. 

Such  an  audacious  insult  offered  to  their  adored  and  sovereign 
lady,  filled  the  whole  Christian  host  with  astonishment  and  in- 
dignation. A  Castilian  knight,  named  Perez  de  Pulgar,  deeply 
swore  to  retort  this  insolent  bravado  on  the  enemy.  Accompa- 
nied by  a  few  valiant  friends,  he  forced  his  way  through  one  of 
the  gates  of  Granada,  galloped  up  to  the  principal  mosque,  and 
there,  throwing  himself  from  his  horse,  he  knelt  down,  and 
solemnly  took  possession  of  it,  in  the  name  of  the  Blessed 
Virgin.  Then  taking  a  tablet,  on  which  were  inscribed  the 
words  AVE  MARIA,  he  nailed  it  to  the  portal  of  the  mosque 
with  his  dagger,  re-mounted  his  horse,  and  safely  regained  the 
camp,  slaying  or  overturning  all  his  opponents. 

On  the  day  which  succeeded  this  daring  exploit,  Queen 
Isabella  and  her  daughters  expressed  a  wish  to  have  a  nearer 


ISABELLA     OF     CASTILE.  139 

view  of  the  city,  and  of  the  glorious  palace  of  the  Alhambra, 
than  they  could  obtain  from  the  camp.  The  noble  Marquis  of 
Cadiz  immediately  prepared,  to  gratify  this  natural  but  perilous 
curiosity  ;  assembling  a  brilliant  and  numerous  escort,  composed 
of  chosen  warriors,  he  conducted  Isabella  and  her  retinue  to  a. 
rising  ground  nearer  the  city,  whence  they  might  view  to  advan- 
tage the  towers  and  heights  of  the  Alhambra. 

When  the  Moors  beheld  this  splendid  and  warlike  array  ap- 
proaching their  city,  they  sent  forth  a  body  of  their  bravest 
youth,  who  challenged  the  Christians  to  the  fight.  But  Isabella, 
unwilling  that  her  curiosity  should  cost  the  life  of  one  human 
being,  absolutely  forbade  the  combat ;  and  her  knights  obeyed, 
but  sorely  against  their  will.  All  at  once,  the  fierce  and  in- 
solent El  Tarfe,  armed  at  all  points,  was  seen  to  advance ;  he 
slowly  paraded  close  to  the  Christian  ranks,  dragging  at  his 
horse's  tail  the  inscription  "  Ave  Maria,"  which  Pulgar  had 
affixed  to  the  mosque  a  few  hours  before.  On  beholding  this 
abominable  sacrilege,  all  the  zeal,  the  pride,  the  long-restrained 
fury  of  the  Castilians  burst  forth  at  once.  Pulgar  was  not 
present,  but  one  of  his  intimate  friends,  Garcilaso  de  la  Vega,* 
threw  himself  at  the  feet  of  the  queen,  and  so  earnestly  en- 
treated her  permission  to  avenge  this  insult,  that  his  request 
was  granted ;  he  encountered  and  slew  the  Moor  in  single 
combat,  and  the  engagement  immediately  became  general. 
Isabella,  at  once  shocked  by  the  consequences  of  her  curiosity, 
and  terrified  by  the  sudden  onset  and  din  of  arms,  threw  herself 
on  her  knees  with  all  her  ladies,  and  prayed  earnestly,  while 
"  lance  to  lance,  and  horse  to  horse,"  the  battle  fiercely  raged 
around  her.  At  length,  victory  decided  for  the  Christians, 
and  the  Moors  were  driven  back  with  loss  upon  the  city.  The 

*  This  Garciiaso  de  la  Vega  ia  said  to  have  been  the  father  of  the  great  poet 


140  ISABELLA     OF     CASTILE. 

Marquis  of  Cadiz  then  rode  up  to  the  queen,  and  while  she  yet 
trembled  with  agitation,  he,  with  grave  courtesy,  apologized  for 
the  combat  which  had  taken  place,  as  if  it  had  been  a  mere 
breach  of  etiquette,  and  gallantly  attributed  the  victory  to  her 
presence.  On  the  spot  where  this  battle  was  fought  Isabella 
founded  a  convent,  which  still  exists,  and  in  its  garden  is  a 
laurel  which,  according  to  the  tradition  of  the  place,  was 
planted  by  her  own  hand. 

Not  long  afterward  Isabella  was  exposed  to  still  greater  dan- 
ger. One  sultry  night  in  the  month  of  July,  she  had  been 
lying  on  her  couch,  reading  by  the  light  of  a  taper.  About 
midnight  she  arose  and  went  into  her  oratory  to  perform  her 
devotions ;  and  one  of  her  attendants,  in  removing  the  taper, 
placed  it  too  near  the  silken  curtains  which  divided  her  magnifi- 
cent pavilion  into  various  compartments ;  the  hangings,  moved 
by  the  evening  breeze,  caught  fire,  and  were  instantly  in  a  blaze — 
the  conflagration  spread  from  tent  to  tent,  and  in  a  few  moments 
the  whole  of  this  division  of  the  camp  was  in  flames. 

The  queen  had  scarcely  time  to  extricate  herself  from  the 
burning  draperies,  and  her  first  thought  was  for  the  safety  of  her 
husband.  She  flew  to  his  tent.  The  king,  upon  the  first  alarm, 
and  uncertain  of  the  nature  of  the  danger,  had  leaped  from  his 
bed,  and  was  rushing  forth  half-dressed,  with  his  sword  in  his  hand. 
The  king  being  in  safety,  Isabella's  next  thought  was  for  her 
son ;  but  he  had  already  been  extricated  by  his  attendant,  and 
carried  to  the  tent  of  the  Marquis  of  Cubra.  No  lives  were  lost, 
but  the  whole  of  the  queen's  wardrobe  and  an  immense  quantity 
of  arms  and  treasure  were  destroyed. 

The  Moors,  who  from  their  walls  beheld  this  conflagration, 
entertained  some  hopes  that  such  a  terrible  disaster  and  the 
approach  of  winter  would  induce  the  sovereigns  to  abandon  the 


ISABELLA     OF     CASTILE.  141 

siege.  Their  astonishment  was  great  when  they  saw  a  noble 
and  regular  city  rise  from  the  ruins  of  the  camp.  It  owed  its 
existence  to  the  piety  and  magnanimity  of  Isabella,  who  founded 
it  as  a  memorial  of  her  gratitude  to  Heaven,  and  at  the  same 
time  to  manifest  the  determination  of  herself  and  her  husband 
never  to  relinquish  the  siege  while  Granada  remained  standing. 
The  army  wished  to  call  this  new  city  by  the  name  of  their 
beloved  queen  ;  but  the  piety  of  Isabella  disclaimed  this  com- 
pliment, and  she  named  it  La  Santa  Fe. 

It  was  during  the  erection  of  this  city  that  Queen  Isabella 
once  more  dispatched  a  missive  to  Columbus,  desiring  his  return 
to  the  court,  that  she  might  have  farther  conference  with  him  ; 
and  she  sent  him  at  the  same  time,  with  that  benevolence  which 
characterized  her,  a  sum  of  money  to  bear  his  expenses,  and  to 
provide  him  with  a  mule  for  his  journey,  and  habiliments  fitted 
to  appear  in  the  royal  presence.  He  arrived  at  the  city  of  Santa 
Fe  just  as  Granada,  reduced  to  the  last  extremity  by  famine  and 
the  loss  of  its  bravest  inhabitants,  had  surrendered  on  terms  of 
capitulation,  and  the  standard  of  the  Cross  and  the  great  banner 
of  Castile  were  seen  floating  together  on  the  lofty  watch-tower 
of  the  Alhambra.  It  was  on  the  6th  of  January,  1492,  that 
Isabella  and  Ferdinand  made  their  triumphal  entry  into  the 
fallen  city.  The  unfortunate  Boabdil  met  them,  and  surrendered 
the  keys  to  King  Ferdinand.  He  would  have  dismounted  and 
tendered  the  usual  token  of  vassalage,  by  kissing  the  hands  of 
the  king  and  queen,  but  they  generously  declined  it;  and  Isa- 
bella, with  many  kind  and  courteous  words,  delivered  to  Boabdil 
his  only  son,  who  had  hitherto  been  detained  as  a  hostage.  The 
Moorish  monarch,  accompanied  by  all  his  family  and  suite,  then 
took  his  melancholy  way  towards  the  province  which  had  been 
assigned  to  him  as  his  future  residence.  On  reaching  a  hill 


142  ISABELLA     OF     CASTILE. 

above  Granada,  (which  has  since  been  called  by  the  Spaniards 
El  Ultimo  Suspiro  del  Moro,  "the  last  sigh  of  the  Moor  "), 
Boabdil  turned,  and,  casting  a  last  look  back  on  the  beautiful 
Vega,  and  the  glorious  city  of  his  forefathers,  he  burst  into  tears. 
"You  do  well,"  said  his  high-spirited  mother,  Ayxa,  "  to  weep 
like  a  woman  for  what  you  knew  not  how  to  defend  like  a  man  !" 
The  reproof  might  ^have  been  just,  but  in  such  a  moment  the 
cruel  taunt  ill  became  a  mother's  heart  or  lips.  Boabdil  after- 
ward retired  to  Africa,  and  resided  in  the  territories  of  the  King 
of  Fez.  He  survived  the  conquest  of  Granada  thirty-four  years, 
and  died  at  last  on  the  field,  valiantly  fighting  in  defence  of  the 
kingdom  of  Fez. 

The  war  of  Granada  lasted  ten  years,  and  with  the  surrender 
of  the  capital  terminated  the  dominion  of  the  Moors  in  Spain, 
which,  dating  from  the  defeat  of  Roderick,  the  last  of  the  Goths, 
had  endured  seven  hundred  and  seventy-eight  years.  When 
the  tumult  of  this  great  triumph  had  in  some  degree  subsided, 
Isabella  had  leisure  to  attend  to  Columbus,  and  the  negotiation 

* 

with  him  was  renewed.  The  terms,  however,  on  which  he 
insisted  with  a  lofty  enthusiasm,  appeared  so  exorbitant  when 
compared  with  his  lowly  condition  and  the  vague  nature  of  his 
views,  that  his  old  adversary,  Fernando  de  Talavera,  now  Arch- 
bishop of  Granada,  again  interposed  between  him  and  the  kind 
intentions  of  the  queen,  and  said  so  much  that  Isabella,  after 
some  hesitation,  declared  his  pretensions  to  be  inadmissible. 
Columbus,  on  the  other  hand,  would  not  abate  one  iota  of  his 
demands.  In  bitterness  of  spirit  he  saddled  his  mule,  and 
turned  his  back  on  Santa  Fe.  Scarcely  had  he  departed  when 
two  of  his  most  enthusiastic  friends,  who  were  besides  high  in 
the  royal  favor,*  waited  on  the  queen.  They  vindicated  Colum- 

*  Luis  de  St.  Angel  and  Alonzo  de  Quintanilla. 


ISABELLA     OF     CASTILE.  143 

bus  from  the  aspersions  of  Talavera  ;  they  entreated,  they  remon- 
strated with  all  the  zeal  which  their  friendship  for  him  and  their 
loyalty  to  the  queen  could  inspire.  The  Marchioness  of  Moya 
added  to  their  arguments  the  most  eloquent  persuasions.  Isa- 
bella listened.  She  had  ever  been  friendly  to  this  great  and 
glorious  enterprise,  and  her  enthusiasm  was  now  kindled  by  that 
of  her  friend.  She  still  hesitated  for  one  moment,  recollecting 
how  completely  the  royal  treasury  was  drained  by  the  late  war, 
and  that  the  king,  her  husband,  was  coldly  averse  to  the  measure. 
At  length  she  exclaimed,  "  It  shall  be  so — I  will  undertake  the 
enterprise  for  my  own  kingdom  of  Castile,  and  will  pledge  my 
jewels  for  the  necessary  sum!"  "This,"  says  the  historian 
of  Columbus,  "  was  the  proudest  moment  in  the  life  of  Isabella. 
It  stamped  her  renown  forever  as  the  patroness  of  the  discovery 
of  the  New  World." 

A  courier  was  immediately  dispatched  to  recall  Columbus, 
who  had  already  reached  the  bridge  of  Pifios,  two  or  three 
leagues  from  Granada.  He  hesitated  at  first,  but  when  he  was 
informed  that  the  messenger  came  from  the  queen  herself,  and 
bore  her  pledge  and  promise,  confiding  in  her  royal  word,  he 
turned  his  mule  at  once,  and  retraced  his  steps  to  Santa  Fe. 
The  compact  between  the  two  sovereigns  and  Columbus  was 
signed  in  April,  1492,  Isabella  undertaking  all  the  expenses 
except  one-eighth,  which  was  borne  by  the  admiral ;  and  in  the 
following  August  Columbus  set  sail  from  Palos. 

The  history  of  his  voyages  and  discoveries  does  not  properly 
enter  into  the  personal  history  of  Queen  Isabella.  It  may  be 
remarked  generally,  that  in  all  her  conduct  toward  Columbus, 
and  all  her  views  and  decrees  in  the  government  of  the  newly- 
discovered  world,  we  find  the  same  beautiful  consistency,  the 
same  generous  feeling,  and  the  same  rectitude  of  intention. 


144  ISABELLA     OF     CASTILE. 

Next  to  that  moment  in  which  Isabella  declared  herself  the 
sole  patroness  of  Columbus,  and  undertook  the  voyage  of  dis- 
covery for  her  "  own  kingdom  of  Castile,"  the  most  memorable 
epoch  of  her  life  was  his  return  from  the  New  World,  when  she 
received  him  in  state  at  Barcelona ;  and,  when  laying  at  her 
feet  the  productions  of  those  unknown  lands,  he  gave  her  a 
detailed  narrative  of  his  wonderful  voyage. 

Isabella  was  particularly  struck  by  his  account  of  the  inhabi- 
tants of  these  new-found  regions  ;  she  took  a  tender  interest  in 
their  welfare,  and  often  reiterated  her  special  commands  to 
Columbus  that  they  should  be  treated  with  kindness,  and  con- 
verted or  civilized  only  by  the  gentlest  means.  Of  the  variety 
of  circumstances  which  interposed  between  these  poor  people 
and  her  benevolent  intentions  we  can  only  judge  by  a  detailed 
account  of  the  events  which  followed,  and  the  characters  of  those 
intrusted  with  the  management  of  the  new  discoveries.  When 
the  most  pious  churchmen  and  enlightened  statesmen  of  her 
time  could  not  determine  whether  it  was  or  was  not  lawful,  and, 
according  to  the  Christian  religion,  to  enslave  the  Indians — 
when  Columbus  himself  pressed  the  measure  as  a  political  ne- 
cessity, and  at  once  condemned  to  slavery  those  who  offered  the 
slightest  opposition  to  the  Spanish  invaders — Isabella  settled  the 
matter  according  to  the  dictates  of  her  own  merciful  heart  and 
upright  mind.  She  ordered  that  all  the  Indians  should  be  con- 
veyed back  to  their  respective  homes,  and  forbade  absolutely  all 
harsh  measures  toward  them  on  any  pretence.  Unable  at  such 
a  distance  to  measure  all  the  difficulties  with  which  Columbus 
had  to  contend,  her  indignation  fell  on  him  ;  and  the  cruelties 
which  his  followers  exercised,  at  least  under  the  sanction  of  his 
name,  drew  on  him  her  deep  displeasure. 

While  under  the  immediate  auspices  of  Isabella  these  grand 


ISABELLA     OF     CASTILE.  145 

discoveries  were  proceeding  in  the  New  World,  Ferdinand  was 
engrossed  by  ambitious  projects  nearer  home.  Naples  had  been 
invaded  by  Charles  VIII.  in  1494,  and  Gronsalvo  de  Cordova 
had  been  sent  to  oppose  him.  Gronsalvo,  "  the  Great  Captain," 
by  a  series  of  brilliant  military  successes  and  political  perfidies 
of  the  deepest  dye,  in  the  end  secured  the  kingdom  of  Naples  for 
his  master,  Ferdinand.  The  legitimate  heir,  and  last  descendant 
of  the  family  of  Alphonso,  "  the  Magnanimous,"  was  brought  a 
prisoner  to  Spain,  and  died  there  after  a  captivity  of  fifty  years. 

Isabella,  meantime,  in  the  interior  of  her  palace,  was  occupied 
by  interests  and  feelings  nearer  and  dearer  to  her  heart  than 
the  conquest  of  kingdoms  or  the  discovery  of  worlds  ;  and, 
during  the  last  few  years  of  her  life,  she  was  gradually  crushed 
to  the  earth  by  a  series  of  domestic  calamities,  which  no  human 
wisdom  could  have  averted,  and  for  which  no  earthly  prosperity 
could  afford  consolation. 

In  1496,  her  mother,  the  queen-dowager  of  Castile,  died  in 
her  arms.  In  1497,  just  before  Columbus  sailed  on  his  third 
voyage,  a  double  family  arrangement  had  been  made  between 
the  houses  of  Spain  and  Austria,  which  bade  fair  to  consolidate 
the  power  of  both.  The  Infanta  Joanna  was  betrothed  to  the 
Archduke  Philip,  son  and  heir  of  the  Emperor  Maximilian  ;  and 
the  same  splendid  and  gallant  fleet  which  bore  her  from  the  shores 
of  Spain  brought  back  Margaret  of  Austria,  the  destined  wife  of 
Prince  Juan,  the  only  son  of  Isabella  and  Ferdinand.  In  the 
spring  of  1497,  Juan  and  Margaret,  then  both  in  the  bloom  of 
youth,  were  united  at  Burgos,  with  all  befitting  pomp  and  revelry. 

The  queen's  most  beloved  daughter,  the  Princess  Isabella, 
had  lost  her  young  husband,  Alphonso  of  Portugal ;  within  four 
months  after  his  marriage  he  was  killed  by  a  fall  from  his  horse, 
and  she  retired  to  a  convent,  where,  from  an  excess  of  grief  or 


146  ISABELLA     OF     CASTILE. 

piety,  she  gave  herself  up  to  a  course  of  religious  abstinence  and 
austerities  which  undermined  her  constitution.  Several  years 
after  the  death  of  Alphonso  she  was  induced  to  bestow  her  hand 
on  his  cousin  and  heir,  Don  Emanuel,  who  had  just  ascended  the 
throne  of  Portugal.  While  yet  the  customary  festivities  Vere 
going  forward  upon  the  occasion  of  this  royal  marriage,  the  young 
Prince  Juan  died  of  a  fever,  within  five  months  after  his  mar- 
riage with  Margaret,  and  her  infant  perished  ere  it  saw  the  light. 
Isabella,  though  struck  to  the  heart  by  this  cruel  disappointment 
of  her  best  hopes  and  affections,  found  strength  in  her  habitual 
piety  to  bear  the  blow,  and  was  beginning  to  recover  from  the 
first  bitterness  of  grief,  when  a  stroke,  even  more  lastingly  and 
deeply  felt,  bowed  her  almost  to  the  grave  with  sorrow.  Her 
daughter,  the  Queen  of  Portugal,  whom  she  appears  to  have 
loved  and  trusted  beyond  every  human  being,  died  in  childbirth 
at  Toledo,  bequeathing  to  her  mother's  care  a  beautiful  but 
feeble  infant,  the  heir  to  Castile,  Arragon,  and  Granada,  to 
Portugal,  Navarre,  Naples,  Sicily,  and  to  all  the  opening  glories 
of  the  eastern  and  western  worlds.  As  if  crushed  beneath  the 
burden  of  such  magnificent  destinies,  the  child  pined  away  and 
died.  These  successive  losses  followed  so  quick  upon  one  an- 
other, that  it  seemed  as  if  the  hand  of  Heaven  had  doomed  the 
house  of  Ferdinand  and  Isabella  to  desolation. 

The  reader  need  hardly  be  reminded  of  the  ignominious  and 
ungrateful  treatment  of  Columbus,  nor  of  the  manner  in  which 
he*  was  sent  home  after  his  third  voyage,  loaded  with  fetters, 
from  the  world  he  had  discovered,  to  the  sovereigns  he  had  en- 
riched and  aggrandized  by  his  discoveries.  In  justice  to  Isa- 
bella, it  is  fit  to  account  for  her  share  in  this  revolting  transac- 
tion ;  and  it  cannot  be  done  better  or  more  succinctly  than  in 

the  very  words  of  the  historian  of  Columbus  : —     ^, 

* 


ISABELLA     OF     CASTILE.  147 

"  The  queen,  having  taken  a  maternal  interest  in  the  welfare 
of  the  natives,  had  been  repeatedly  offended  by  what  appeared 
to  her  pertinacity  on  the  part  of  Columbus,  in  continuing  to 
make  slaves  of  those  taken  in  warfare,  in  contradiction  to  her 
known  wishes.  The  same  ships  which  brought  home  the  com- 
panions of  Roldan  brought  likewise  a  great  number  of  slaves. 
Some  Columbus  had  been  obliged  to  grant  to  these  men  by 
articles  of  capitulation — others  they  had  brought  away  clan- 
destinely ;  among  them  were  several  daughters  of  caciques,  who 
had  been  seduced  away  from  their  families  and  their  native 
island  by  these  profligates.  The  gifts  and  transfers  of  these 
unhappy  beings  were  all  ascribed  to  the  will  of  Columbus,  and 
represented  to  Isabella  in  their  darkest  colors.  Her  sensibility 
as  a  woman  and  her  dignity  as  a  queen  were  instantly  in  arms. 
'  What  power,'  she  exclaimed,  indignantly,  '  has  the  admiral  to 
give  away  my  vassals  ?'  She  determined,  by  one  decided  and 
peremptory  act,  to  show  her  abhorrence  of  these  outrages  upon 
humanity  ;  she  ordered  all  the  Indians  to  be  restored  to  their 
country  and  friends.  Nay,  more,  her  measure  was  retro- 
spective. She  commanded  that  those  who  had  formerly  been 
sent  home  by  the  admiral  should  be  sought  out,  and  sent  back 
to  Hispaniola.  Unfortunately  for  Columbus,  at  this  very  junc- 
ture, in  one  of  his  letters  he  had  advised  the  continuance  of 
Indian  slavery  for  some  time  longer,  as  a  measure  important 
for  the  welfare  of  the  colony.  This  contributed  to  heighten 
the  indignation  of  Isabella,  and  induced  her  no  longer  to  op- 
pose the  sending  out  of  a  commission  to  investigate  his  conduct, 
and,  if  necessary,  to  supersede  his  commission." 

When  Columbus  had  sailed  on  his  first  voyage  of  discovery, 
Isabella  had  given  a  strong  proof  of  her  kindly  feeling  toward 
him,  by  appointing  his  sons  pages  to  Don  Juan  ;  thus  providing 


148  ISABELLA     OF     CASTILE. 


for  their  education,  and  opening  to  them  a  path  to  the  highest 
offices  in  the  court.  Hence,  perhaps,  arose  the  friendship  which 
existed  between  Columbus  and  Donna  Joanna  de  Torres,  who  had 
been  nurse  or  gouvernante  of  the  young  prince,  and  was  high  in 
the  confidence  and  favor  of  Isabella.  Too  proud,  perhaps,  to 
address  himself  immediately  to  those  who  had  injured  him,  Co- 
lumbus wrote  to  Donna  Joanna  a  detailed  account  of  the  dis- 
graceful treatment  he  had  met,  and  justified  his  own  conduct. 
The  court  was  then  at  Granada,  and  Joanna  de  Torres  in  at- 
tendance on  the  queen  No  sooner  had  she  received  the  letter 
than  she  carried  it  to  her  mistress,  and  read  aloud  this  solemn 
and  affecting  appeal  against  the  injustice  and  ingratitude  with 
which  his  services  had  been  recompensed.  Isabella,  who  had 
never  contemplated  such  an  extremity,  was  filled  with  mingled 
astonishment,  indignation,  and  sorrow.  She  immediately  wrote 
to  Columbus,  expressing  her  grief  for  all  he  had  endured,  apolo- 
gizing for  the  conduct  of  Bovadilla,  and  inviting  him  in  affec- 
tionate terms  to  visit  the  court.  He  came  accordingly,  "  not 
as  one  in  disgrace,  but  richly  dressed,  and  with  all  the  marks 
of  rank  and  distinction.  Isabella  received  him  in  the  Alhambra, 
and  when  he  entered  her  apartment  she  was  so  overpowered 
that  she  burst  into  tears,  and  could  only  extend  her  hand  to 
him.  Columbus  himself,  who  had  borne  up  firmly  against  the 
stern  conflicts  of  the  world,  and  had  endured  with  a  lofty  scorn 
the  injuries  and  insults  of  ignoble  men,  when  he  beheld  the 
queen's  emotion,  could  no  longer  suppress  his  own.  He  threw 
himself  at  her  feet,  and  for  some  time  was  unable  to  utter  a 
word,  for  the  violence  of  his  tears  and  sobbings."*  There  can 
be  no  doubt  that,  had  it  depended  on  Isabella,  Columbus  would 
never  more  have  had  reason  to  complain  of  injustice  or  ingrati- 

*  Vide  Life  and  Voyages  of  Columbus. 


ISABELLA     OF     CASTILE  149 

tude  on  the  part  of  the  sovereigns  ;  he  had  won  her  entire  es- 
teem and  her  implicit  confidence,  and  all  her  intentions  towards 
him  were  sincerely  kind  and  upright.*  It  was  owing  to  the 
interference  of  Ferdinand  and  his  ministers  that  the  vice-royalty 
of  the  New  World  was  taken  from  him  and  given  to  Ovando, 
as  a  temporary  measure  ;  but  it  was  under  Isabella's  peculiar 
patronage  and  protection  that  he  sailed  on  his  fourth  voyage  of 
discovery,  in  1502. 

Isabella  did  not  live  to  see  him  return  from  this  eventful  and 
disastrous  voyage.  A  dark  cloud  had  gathered  over  her  latter 
years,  and  domestic  griefs  and  cares  pressed  heavily  upon  her 
affectionate  heart.  The  Princess  Joanna,  now  her  heiress,  had 
married  the  Archduke  Philip  of  Austria,  who  was  remarkable 
for  his  gay  manners  and  captivating  person — the  marriage  had 
been  one  of  mere  policy  on  his  part.  But  the  poor  princess, 
who,  unhappily  for  herself,  united  to  a  plain  person  and  infirm 
health,  strong  passions  and  great  sensibility,  had  centered  all 
her  affections  in  her  husband,  whom  she  regarded  with  a  fond 
and  exclusive  idolatry,  while  he  returned  her  attachment  with 
the  most  negligent  coolness.  It  does  not  appear  that  fhe  im- 
becility of  Joanna  was  natural,  but  rather  the  effect  of  accident 
and  disease,  for  occasionally  she  displayed  glimpses  of  strong 
sense,  generous  pride,  and  high  feeling,  which  rendered  the 
derangement  of  her  faculties  more  intensely  painful  and  affect- 
ing. Though  Isabella  had  the  satisfaction  of  seeing  Joanna  a 
mother — though  she  pressed  in  her  arms  a  grandson,"!"  whose 
splendid  destinies,  if  she  could  have  beheld  them  through  the 
long  lapse  of  years,  might  in  part  have  consoled  her ;  yet  the 
feeble  health  of  this  infant,  and  the  sight  of  her  daughter's 
misery,  embittered  her  days.  At  length,  on  the  departure  of 

*  Vide  Life  and  Voyages  of  Columbus.        f  Afterward  the  Emperor  Charles  V. 


150  ISABELLA     OF     CASTILE. 

Philip  for  the  Low  Countries,  the  unhappy  Joanna  gave  way  to 
such  transports  of  grief,  that  it  ended  in  the  complete  bereave- 
ment of  her  senses.  To  this  terrible  blow  was  added  another — 
for,  about  the  same  time,  the  news  arrived  that  Catherine  of 
Arragon  had  lost  her  young  husband,  Prince  Arthur,  after  a 
union  of  only  five  months.  Isabella's  maternal  heart,  wounded 
in  the  early  death  or  protracted  sorrows  of  her  children,  had  no 
hope,  no  consolation,  but  in  her  deep  sense  of  religion.  Ximenes 
was  at  this  time  her  confessor.  In  his  strong  and  upright,  but 
somewhat  harsh  and  severe  mind,  she  found  that  support  and 
counsel  which  might  aid  her  in  grappling  with  the  cares  of 
empire,  but  not  the  comfort  which  could  soothe  her  affliction  as 
a  mother.  Ferdinand  was  so  engrossed  by  the  Italian  wars  and 
in  weaving  subtle  webs  of  policy  either  to  ensnare  his  neighbors 
or  veil  his  own  deep-laid  plans,  that  he  had  little  thought  or 
care  for  domestic  sorrows.  So  Isabella  pined  away  lonely  in 
her  grandeur,  till  the  deep  melancholy  of  her  mind  seized  on 
her  constitution,  and  threw  her  into  a  rapid  decline.  While 
on  her  death-bed,  she  received  intelligence  of  Ovando's  tyranni- 
cal government  at  Hispaniola,  and  of  the  barbarities  which  had 
been  exercised  upon  the  unhappy  Indians,  her  horror  and 
indignation  hastened  the  effects  of  her  disease.  With  her  dying 
breath,  she  exacted  from  Ferdinand  a  solemn  promise  that  he 
would  instantly  recall  Ovando,  redress  the  grievances  of  the 
poor  Indians,  and  protect  them  from  all  future  oppression. 
Ferdinand  gave  the  required  promise,  and  how  he  kept  it  is 
recorded  in  traces  of  blood  and  guilt  in  the  history  of  the  New 
World.  Soon  after  this  conversation  Isabella  expired  at  Medina 
del  Campo,  after  a  lingering  illness  of  four  months ;  she  died 
on  the  25th  of  November,  1505,  in  the  fifty-fourth  year  of  her 
age,  having  reigned  thirty-one  years.  In  her  last  will  she 


ISABELLA     OF     CASTILE.  151 

expressed  a  wish  to  be  buried  in  the  Alhambra — "  in  a  low 
sepulchre,  without  any  monument,  unless  the  king,  her  lord, 
should  desire  that  his  body  after  death  should  rest  in  any  other 
spot.  In  that  case,  she  willed  that  her  body  should  be  removed, 
and  laid  beside  that  of  the  king,  wherever  it  might  be  de- 
posited ;  in  order,"  adds  this  affecting  document  of  her  piety,  ten- 
derness, and  humility — "  in  order  that  the  union  we  have  enjoyed 
while  living,  and  which  (through  the  mercy  of  Grod)  we  hope 
our  souls  will  experience  in  heaven,  may  be  represented  by 
our  bodies  in  the  earth." 

The  character  of  Isabella  as  a  woman  and  a  queen,  though 
not  free  from  the  failings  incidental  to  humanity,  is  certainly  the 
most  splendid,  and  at  the  same  time  the  most  interesting  and 
blameless,  which  history  has  recorded.  She  had  all  the  talents, 
the  strength  of  mind,  and  the  royal  pride  of  Queen  Elizabeth, 
without  her  harshness,  her  despotism,  and  her  arrogance ;  and 
she  possessed  the  personal  grace,  the  gentleness,  and  feminine 
accomplishments  of  Mary  Stuart,  without  her  weakness.  Her 
virtues  were  truly  her  own — her  faults  and  errors  were  the 
result  of  external  circumstances,  and  belonged  to  the  times  and 
the  situation  in  which  she  was  placed.  What  is  most  striking 
and  singular  in  the  character  of  Isabella,  is  the  union  of  exces- 
sive pride — Castilian  pride — amounting  at  times  to  haughtiness, 
and  even  willfulness,  whenever  her  dignity  as  a  queen  was  con- 
cerned, with  extreme  sensibility  and  softness  of  deportment  as 
a  woman.  She  adored  her  husband,  and  yet  would  never  suffer 
him  to  interfere  with  her  authority  as  an  independent  sovereign ; 
and  she  was  as  jealous  of  her  prerogative  as  Elizabeth  herself. 
When  the  cortes  of  Arragon  hesitated  to  acknowledge  her 
daughter  Joanna  the  heiress  to  Arragon  as  well  as  to  Castile, 
Isabella  exclaimed,  with  all  the  willfulness  of  a  proud  woman, 


152  ISABELLA     OF     CASTILE. 

"Another  time  it  were  a  shorter  way  to  assemble  an  army 
instead  of  assembling  the  states  !" 

Although  exposed  in  early  life  to  all  the  contagion  of  a  de- 
praved court,  Isabella  preserved  a  reputation  unsullied,  even  by 
the  breath  of  calumny.  The  women  who  formed  her  court  and 
habitual  society  were  generally  estimable.  The  men,  who  owed 
their  rise  to  her  particular  favor  and  patronage,  were  all  distin- 
guished either  for  worth  or  talent.  The  most  illustrious  were 
Columbus  and  Ximenes,  certainly  the  two  greatest  men  of  that 
time,  in  point  of  original  capacity,  boldness  of  strength,  and 
integrity  of  purpose.  Ferdinand  hated  and  oppressed  the  former, 
and  hated  and  feared  the  latter.  Both  would  have  been  distin- 
guished in  any  age  or  under  any  circumstances,  but,  next  to 
themselves,  they  owed  their  rise  and  their  fame  to  Isabella.  It 
was  in  the  reign  of  Isabella  that  the  Spanish  language  and 
literature  began  to  assume  a  polished  and  regular  form.  The 
two  most  celebrated  poets  of  her  time  were  the  Marquis  de 
Santillana  and  Juan  de  Encina.  She  patronized  the  newly-in- 
vented art  of  printing,  and  the  first  printing-press  set  up  in 
Spain  was  established  at  Burgos  under  her  auspices,  and 
printed  books ;  and  foreign  classical  works  were  imported  free 
of  duty.  Through  her  zeal  and  patronage  the  University  of 
Salamanca  rose  to  that  eminence  which  it  assumed  among  the 
learned  institutions  of  that  period.  She  prepared  the  way  for 
that  golden  age  of  Spanish  literature  which  immediately 
succeeded. 

"  Isabella  de  la  paz  y  bontad  :" — Isabella  of  peace  and  good- 
ness— was  the  simple,  but  beautiful  designation  bestowed  upon 
her  by  her  people ;  and  the  universal  regret  and  enthusiastic 
eulogies  with  which  they  have  embalmed  her  memory  have 
been  ratified  by  history  and  posterity. 


6  e  K)  c  i . 


essei, 


IN  an  obscure  part  of  Rome,  near  the  Ghetto,  or  quarter  of 
the  Jews,  stands  a  large  gloomly  pile,  which,  though  partially 
modernized,  retains  all  the  characteristics  of  a  feudal  palace. 
Its  foundations  are  seated  upon  the  ruins  of  an  ancient  amphi- 
theatre, and  its  walls  were  probably  raised,  like  most  of  the 
palaces  in  the  Christian  capital,  at  the  expense  of  some  noble 
monument  of  antiquity.  A  darkly  tragic  history,  involving  the 
fate  of  one  of  the  oldest  Patrician  families  of  Rome,  and  ending 
in  its  extinction,  is  connected  with  this  building.  It  is  a  tale  of 
suffering  and  of  blood  —  one  in  which  the  most  monstrous  per- 
versity distorts  the  best  and  gentlest  feelings  of  human  nature, 
and  converts  a  mild  and  lovely  woman  into  a  parricide. 

The  record  of  such  crimes,  though  it  raises  a  thrill  of  breath- 
less horror,  conveys  at  the  same  time  a  useful  lesson.  To 
watch  tke  effects  of  a  continued  career  of  vice,  or  to  trace  the 
warping  of  an  ardent  but  virtuous  mind  under  the  pressure  of 
accumulated  and  unheard-of  injuries,  is  to  study  a  most  import- 
ant page  in  the  book  of  mankind.  Precept  is  powerful,  no 
doubt  ;  but  when  a  terrific  picture  is  placed  before  us,  and  the 
fearful  reality  brought  home  to  the  senses,  it  leaves  a  much 
more  lasting  impression. 

Such  is  my  object  in  relating  the  events  which  follow  ;  as 
well  as  to  show,  that  even  the  production  of  a  positive  good  is 
not  only  no  justification  for  crime,  but  that  such  crime  leads  to 


156  BEATRICE     CENCI. 

certain  and  irreparable  evil.  Here  we  have  a  daughter  inflict- 
ing death  upon  an  iniquitous  father  ;  and  while  a  deep  and  soul- 
stirring  interest  is  awakened  by  the  sorrows  and  sufferings  of 
Beatrice  Cenci,  a  horror  of  the  crime  she  committed  will  ever 
couple  her  name  with  infamy. 

Count  Nicolo  Cenci  was  the  last  living  descendant  of  an 
ancient  and  noble  house.  In  early  life  he  had  entered  the 
ecclesiastical  state,  risen  to  the  prelacy,  and  held,  under  the 
Pontificate  of  Pius  V.,  the  office  of  Treasurer  to  the  Apostolic 
chamber.  Being  at  length  the  sole  survivor  of  his  race,  he 
resolved,  though  somewhat  advanced  in  years,  to  return  to 
secular  life  and  marry — a  practice  not  uncommon  in  the  six- 
teenth century.  At  his  death  he  left  an  only  son,  the  inheritor 
of  his  honors  and  immense  wealth. 

This  son,  the  child  of  his  old  age  and  of  his  ambition,  was 
Francesco  Cenci,  the  father  of  Beatrice.  The  curse  of  iniquity 
seemed  entailed  upon  him  from  his  cradle.  He  was  one  of 
those  human  monsters  which,  bad  as  man  may  be,  are  the  ano- 
malies of  the  species  ;  woe  and  despair  were  the  ministers  to  his 
enjoyments,  and  the  very  atmosphere  tainted  with  his  breath 
was  pregnant  with  death  or  misfortune  to  all  who  came  within 
its  influence.  Before  he  had  reached  his  twentieth  year,  he 
married  a  woman  of  great  beauty  and  noble  birth,  who,  after 
bearing  him  seven  children,  and  while  still  young,  died  a 
violent  and  mysterious  death.  Very  soon  after,  he  married 
Lucrezia  Strozzi,  by  whom  he  had  no  family. 

Count  Francesco  Cenci  was  a  stranger  to  every  redeeming 
virtue  of  the  human  heart.  His  whole  life  was  spent  in 
debauchery,  and  in  the  commission  of  crimes  of  the  most  un- 
speakable kind.  He  had  several  times  incurred  the  penalty  of 
death,  but  had  purchased  his  pardon  from  the  papal  govern- 


BEATRICE     CENCI.  157 

ment  at  the  cost  of  a  hundred  thousand  Roman  crowns  for  each 
offence.  As  he  advanced  in  years,  he  conceived  a  most  impla- 
cable hatred  towards  his  children.  To  get  rid  of  his  three 
eldest  sons,  he  sent  them  to  Spain,  where  he  kept  them  without 
even  the  common  necessaries  of  life.  They  contrived,  how- 
ever, to  return  to  Rome,  and  throw  themselves  at  the  feet  of 
the  Pope,  who  compelled  their  unnatural  father  to  make  them 
an  allowance  suitable  to  their  rank.  Their  eldest  sister,  cruelly 
tortured  at  home,  likewise  succeeded,  though  with  great  diffi- 
culty, in  making  an  appeal  to  the  Pontiff,  and  was  removed 
from  her  father's  roof.  She  died  a  few  years  after. 

When  these  victims  of  Count  Cenci's  hatred  were  thus 
placed  beyond  his  reach,  the  vindictive  old  man  became  almost 
frantic  with  passion.  But  his  wife,  his  daughter  Beatrice,  his 
son  Bernardino,  and  a  boy  still  younger,  were  yet  in  his  power  ; 
and  upon  them  he  resolved  to  wreak  his  vengeance  by  the 
infliction  of  tenfold  wretchedness. 

To  prevent  Beatrice  from  following  her  sister's  example,  he 
shut  her  up  in  a  remote  and  unfrequented  room  of  his  palace, 
no  longer  the  seat  of  princely  magnificence  and  hospitality,  but 
a  gloomy  and  appalling  solitude,  the  silence  of  which  was  never 
disturbed,  except  by  shouts  of  loose  revelry,  or  shrieks  of 
despair. 

So  long  as  Beatrice  remained  a  child,  her  father  treated  her 
with  extreme  cruelty.  But  years  sped  on ;  the  ill-used  child 
grew  up  into  a  woman  of  surpassing  loveliness,  and  the  hand 
raised  to  fell  her  to  the  earth,  became  gradually  relaxed,  and  at 
last  fell  powerless.  The  soul  of  the  stern  father  had  melted 
before  her  matchless  beauty,  and  his  ferocious  nature  seemed 
subdued.  But  it  was  only  the  deceitful  calm  that  precedes  the 
tempest. 


158  BEATRICE     CENCI. 

Just  before  this  change  took  place,  Beatrice's  two  brothers, 
Cristoforo  and  Vocio,  were  found  murdered  in  the  neighborhood 
of  Rome.  The  crime  was  ascribed  to  banditti,  but  it  was 
generally  believed  that  a  parent's  hand  had  directed  the  assas- 
sin's dagger.  Be  that  as  it  may,  the  wicked  old  Count  refused 
the  money  necessary  to  bury  his  sons,  alleging  that  he  would 
wait  until  the  other  members  of  his  hated  family  were  cut  off, 
and  then  spend  the  whole  of  his  fortune  in  giving  them  all  a 
magnificent  funeral. 

Count  Cenci's  unusual  mildness  toward  his  daughter,  seemed 
at  first  to  have  its  origin  in  a  redeeming  virtue  which  had  im- 
perceptibly stolen  into  his  heart.  Beatrice  received  the  marks 
of  his  assumed  kindness  as  a  blessing  of  Providence  ;  they 
called  forth  the  kindliest  emotions  of  her  nature,  and  her  heart 
overflowed  with  gratitude.  But  the  real  cause  of  the  Count's 
change  of  conduct  was  soon  revealed.  He  had  indeed  been 
moved  by  his  daughter's  beauty,  though  not  by  paternal  affec- 
tion. The  wretched  man  had  dared  to  contemplate  the  most 
unhallowed  crime  that  ever  blackened  the  annals  of  human 
depravity  ;  and  when  this  became  manifest  to  Beatrice,  she 
shrank  back  in  horror  and  affright,  her  features  were  convulsed 
with  agony,  and  the  most  appalling  thoughts  shot  through  her 
brain.  Now  began  that  mental  struggle  which  ended  in  the 
perversion  of  her  nature,  and  led  to  the  frightful  catastrophe 
that  ensued.  Beatrice  Cenci,  though  the  most  gentle  and  affec- 
tionate of  her  sex,  had  nevertheless  a  firm  and  energetic  soul. 
With  all  the  attributes  of  feminine  loveliness,  with  endowments 
that  rendered  her  the  ornament  of  society,  she  had  a  resolute- 
ness of  purpose,  and  an  energy  of  courage,  which  nothing  could 
shake.  To  this  may  be  added  a  keen  sense  of  injury.  A 
mind  of  such  a  stamp,  goaded  by  years  of  the  most  revolting 


BEATRICE     CENCI.  159 

I 

cruelty,  and  recently  outraged  by  a  loathsome  and  unutterable 
attempt,  was  the  more  likely,  upon  taking  a  wrong  bias,  to  ad- 
vance recklessly  on  to  crime.  Beatrice  was,  besides,  excited  by 
a  powerful  and  all-absorbing  idea.  Strongly  imbued  with  the 
religious  fanaticism  of  the  age  in  which  she  lived,  she  imagined 
that,  if  her  father  persevered  in  his  monstrous  course,  her  soul 
would  be  forever  contaminated,  and  both  parent  and  child  ex- 
cluded from  eternal  salvation.  Hence  despair  fixed  its  fangs 
upon  her  heart,  and  smothered  her  better  feelings.  She  at  first 
contemplated  the  possibility  of  her  father's  death  as  the  only 
chance  of  averting  the  threatened  evil ;  and  as  her  mind  be- 
came familiarized  with  this  idea,  she  gradually  brought  herself 
to  think  that  she  was  called  upon,  if  not  to  anticipate  the  will 
of  Providence,  at  least  to  act  as  its  instrument.  It  is  probable 
that  her  resolution  was  strengthened,  by  witnessing  the  cruelties 
daily  inflicted  upon  her  step-mother  and  her  two  youngest 
brothers'. 

Ever  since  Count  Cenci's  hatred  of  Beatrice  had  yielded  to 
a  more  atrocious  sentiment,  she  had  enjoyed  greater  freedom, 
and  the  fame  of  her  beauty  soon  spread  through  Rome.  Numer- 
ous suitors  offered  themselves  to  her  notice  ;  but  she  beheld  them 
all  with  indifference,  except  Monsignore  Gruerra,  an  intimate 
friend  of  Griacomo,  her  eldest  brother.  This  young  man  was 
handsome,  valiant,  accomplished,  and  her  equal  in  rank.  He 
had  entered  the  church,  and  was  then  a  prelate  ;  but  he  intended 
to  obtain  a  dispensation  to  marry,  as  Beatrice's  grandfather  had 
done.  He  loved  Beatrice  with  the  most  devoted  affection,  which 
she  as  warmly  returned.  Count  Cenci  was  jealous  of  all  who 
approached  his  daughter,  and  the  lovers  could  only  converse  in 
private  when  the  Count  was  from  home.  For  some  months,  he 
had  seldom  left  his  palace,  and  the  cause  of  this  sedentary  life 


160  BEATRICE     CENCI. 

was    but    too   apparent,   not  only   to   Beatrice,    but    to   the 
Countess. 

Lucrezia  was  a  kind  step-mother.  There  is  a  bond  in  the 
fellowship  of  suffering  which  begets  affection,  and  Beatrice  had 
always  found  sympathy  and  consolation  in  her  father's  wife.  Into 
the  bosom  of  the  Countess  she  now  poured  the  tale  of  her 
despair,  forcibly  directed  her  attention  to  the  abyss  upon  the 
brink  of  which  they  all  stood,  and  ultimately  succeeded  in  mak- 
ing her  mother-in-law  a  convert  to  her  views  and  purposes.  For 
the  first  time,  perhaps,  a  wife  and  her  step-daughter  conspired 
the  death  of  a  husband  and  father.  Trembling  for  their  safety, 
and  dreading  the  most  fearful  violence — led,  moreover,  by  the 
superstitious  fanaticism  with  which,  in  those  days  of  blindness, 
Christianity  was  debased,  to  take  a  false  view  of  futurity — two 
feeble  women  dared  to  conceive  a  crime  that  would  have  appalled 
the  stoutest-hearted  villain. 

The  lover  of  Beatrice  was  made  the  depository  of  this  dread- 
ful secret,  and  his  assistance  solicited.  G-uerra  loved  his  beautiful 
mistress  too  ardently  to  question  the  propriety  of  anything  she 
resolved  upon,  and,  as  her  blind  slave,  he  readily  assumed  the 
management  of  the  plot.  Having  first  communicated  the  matter 
to  Giacomo,  and  wrung  from  him  a  perhaps  reluctant  concur- 
rence, he  next  undertook  to  provide  the  murderers.  These  were 
soon  found.  The  vassals  of  Count  Cenci  abhorred  him  as  an 
insufferable  tyrant ;  among  them  were  Marzio  and  Olimpio,  both 
of  whom  burned  with  Italian  vindictiveness  and  hatred  of  their 
feudal  lord.  Marzio,  besides,  madly  and  hopelessly  loved  Bea- 
trice. He  was  sent  for  to  the  Cenci  palace,  where,  after  a  few 
gentle  words  from  the  syren,  and  the  promise  of  a  princely  re- 
ward, he  accepted  the  bloody  mission  ;  and  Olimpio  was  induced 
to  join  him,  from  a  desire  of  avenging  some  personal  wrongs. 


BEATRICE     CENCI.  161 

The  first  plan  fixed  upon  by  the  conspirators  was  one  likely  to 
escape  detection  ;  nevertheless,  from  some  cause  now  unknown, 
it  was  abandoned.  Count  Cenci  intended  spending  a  year  at 
Rocca-di-Petrella,  a  castle  situated  among  the  Apulian  Apen- 
nines. It  belonged  to  his  friend  Marzio  Colunna,  who  had  placed 
it  at  his  disposal.  A  number  of  banditti,  posted  in  the  woods 
near  the  castle,  were  to  have  attacked  the  Count  on  his  way 
thither,  seized  his  person,  and  demanded  so  heavy  a  ransom 
that  he  could  not  possibly  have  the  sum  with  him.  His  sons 
were  to  propose  fetching  the  money,  and,  after  remaining  some 
time  absent,  to  return  and  declare  that  they  had  been  unable  to 
raise  so  large  an  amount.  The  Count  was  then  to  be  put  to 
death. 

The  difficulties  which  arose  to  prevent  the  adoption  of  this 
plan,  certainly  offering  the  best  chances  of  escape  from  the  con- 
sequences of  the  crime,  are  involved  in  obscurity  ;  but  the  hand 
of  Providence  is  here  apparent.  The  murder  was  adjourned  to 
some  more  convenient  opportunity,  and  Count  Cenci  set  out  with 
his  wife,  his  daughter,  and  his  two  youngest  sons,  for  Rocca-di- 
Petrella. 

It  raises  feelings  of  horror  and  disgust,  as  we  follow  this  family 
party  in  their  slow  progress  across  the  Pontine  marshes,  medi- 
tating against  each  other,  as  they  journeyed  on,  crimes  the  most 
revolting  to  human  nature.  They  moved  forward  like  a  funeral 
procession.  On  reaching  Rocca-di-Petrella,  the  Count  imme- 
diately began  to  carry  his  designs  against  Beatrice  into  exe- 
cution. 

Day  after  day,  the  most  violent  scenes  took  place,  and  they 
but  strengthened  Beatrice  in  her  desperate  resolution.  At 
length  she  could  hold  out  no  longer  ;  and  the  rage  of  madness 
took  possession  of  her  mind.  One  day — it  was  the  4th  of 


162  BEATRICE     CENCI. 

September,  1598 — after  a  most  trying  interview  with  her  father, 
she  threw  herself,  in  an  agony  of  horror,  into  the  arms  of  Lu- 
crezia,  and  exclaimed  in  a  hoarse,  broken  voice, — 

"  We  can  delay  no  longer — he  must  die  !" 

An  express  was  that  instant  dispatched  to  Monsignore  Guerra  ; 
the  murderers  received  immediate  instructions,  and  on  the  even- 
in"'  of  the  8th,  reached  Rocca-di-Petrella.  Beatrice  turned 

O  ' 

pale  on  hearing  the  signal  which  announced  their  arrival. 

"  This  is  the  Nativity  of  the  Virgin,"  said  she  to  the  Coun- 
tess— "  we  must  wait  till  to-morrow  ;  for  why  should  we  commit 
a  double  crime  ?" 

Thus  was  a  most  heinous  offence,  no  less  than  the  murder  of 
a  father  and  a  husband,  deferred,  because  the  Church  prohibited 
all  kind  of  work  on  the  day  of  the  Virgin  Mary's  nativity. 
Such  were  the  feelings  of  these  two  women  ;  and  such,  I  may 
safely  aver,  were  the  feelings  of  every  desperate  villain  in  Italy, 
at  that  period.  Even  Francesco  Cenci,  whose  atrocities  have 
found  no  parallel  in  ancient  or  modern  times,  built  a  chapel  and 
established  masses  for  the  repose  of  his  soul.  Religion  was  no 
check — it  was  only  a  refuge  or  sanctuary  against  punishment ; 
and  it  served  but  to  convince  the  dying  criminal  who  had 
strictly  observed  its  outward  forms,  of  his  certain  passport  to 
heaven. 

On  the  following  evening,  Beatrice  and  Lucrezia  administered 
an  opiate  to  Count  Cenci  of  sufficient  strength  to  prevent  him 
from  defending  his  life.  A  short  time  after  he  had  taken  it,  he 
fell  into  a  heavy  sleep. 

When  all  was  silent  in  the  castle,  the  murderers  were  ad- 
mitted by  Beatrice,  who  conducted  them  into  a  long  gallery, 
leading  to  the  Count's  bed-room.  The  women  were  soon  left 
to  themselves  ;  and  strong  as  was  their  determination,  and  deep 


BEATRICE     CENCI.  163 

the  sense  of  their  wrongs,  this  moment  must  have  been  appalling 
to  both.  They  listened  in  breathless  anxiety — not  a  sound  was 
audible.  At  length  the  door  of  the  Count's  room  was  opened, 
and  the  murderers  rushed  out  horror-stricken. 

"  Oh  God  !"  said  Marzio,  in  dreadful  agitation,  "  I  cannot 
kill  that  old  man.  His  peaceful  sleep — his  venerable  white 
locks — Oh  !  I  cannot  do  it !" 

The  cheeks  of  Beatrice  became  of  an  ashy  paleness,  and  she 
trembled  with  anger.  Her  eyes  flashed  with  fury,  as  her  color 
returned,  and  the  passions  which  shook  her  whole  frame  served 
but  to  give  additional  lustre  to  her  beauty. 

"  Coward  !"  she  exclaimed  with  bitterness,  seizing  Marzio  by 
the  arm  ;  "  thy  valor  lies  only  in  words.  Base  murderer  !  thou 
hast  sold  thy  soul  to  the  devil,  and  yet  thou  lackest  energy  to 
fulfill  thy  hellish  contract.  Return  to  that  room,  vile  slave,  and 
do  thy  duty  ;  or,  by  the  seven  pains  of  our  Lady —  "  and  as 
she  said  this,  she  drew  a  dagger  from  under  the  folds  of  her 
dress — "  thy  dastardly  soul  shall  go  prematurely  to  its  long  ac- 
count." 

The  men  shrank  beneath  the  scowl  of  this  girl.  Completely 
abashed,  they  returned  to  their  work  of  death,  followed  by 
Beatrice  and  Lucrezia.  The  Count  had  not  been  disturbed 
from  his  sleep.  His  head  appeared  above  the  coverlid  ;  it  was 
surrounded  by  flowing  white  hair,  which,  reflecting  the  moon- 
beams as  they  fell  upon  it  through  the  large  painted  window, 
formed  a  silvery  halo  round  his  brow.  Marzio  shuddered  as  he 
approached  the  bed — the  passage  from  sleep  to  eternity  was 
brief. 

The  crime  being  consummated,  Beatrice  herself  paid  the 
promised  reward,  and  presented  Marzio  with  a  cloak  richly 
trimmed  with  gold  lace.  The  murderers  immediately  left  the 


164  BEATRICE     CENCI. 

castle  through  a  ruined  postern  long  out  of  use,  and  partly 
walled  up. 

Beatrice  and  Lucrezia  then  returned  to  the  murdered  Count, 
and  drawing  the  weapon  from  the  wound — for  the  old  man  had 
been  deprived  of  life  by  means  of  a  long  and  sharply-pointed 
piece  of  iron,  driven  into  the  brain  through  the  corner  of  the 
right  eye — clothed  the  body  in  a  dressing-gown,  and  dragging 
it  to  the  further  end  of  the  gallery,  precipitated  it  from  a  win- 
dow then  under  repair,  the  balcony  of  which  had  been  taken 
down.  Beneath  stood  a  huge  mulberry-tree  with  strong  and 
luxuriant  branches,  which  so  dreadfully  mutilated  the  corpse  in 
its  fall,  that,  when  found  in  the  morning,  it  presented  every  ap- 
pearance of  accidental  death.  It  is  probable  that  no  suspicion 
would  ever  have  been  excited,  had  not  Beatrice,  with  strict  in- 
junctions to  secrecy,  given  the  blood-stained  sheets  and  coverlid 
to  a  woman  of*  the  village  for  the  purpose  of  being  washed. 

Rocca-di-Petrella  being  situated  in  the  Neapolitan  territory, 
the  Court  of  Naples  received  the  first  intimation  of  the  suspected 
crime.  An  inquiry  was  immediately  set  on  foot ;  but,  notwith- 
standing every  search,  the  deposition  of  the  woman  who  had 
washed  the  bed-clothes  was  the  only  evidence  that  could  be 
obtained. 

Meantime,  Giacomo  had  assumed  the  title  of  Count  Cenci ; 
and  his  step-mother  and  sister,  accompanied  by  Bernardino — 
for  the  youngest  boy  had  died  soon  after  the  murder — had 
quitted  Rocea-di-Petrella,  and  taken  up  then-  abode  at  the 
Cenci  palace,  there  to  enjoy  the  few  peaceful  months  which 
Providence  allowed  to  intervene  betwixt  the  crime  and  its  pun- 
ishment. Here  they  received  the  first  intelligence  of  the  in- 
quiry instituted  by  the  Neapolitan  Government ;  and  they 
trembled  at  the  thought  of  being  betrayed  by  their  accomplices. 


BEATRICE     CENCI.  165 

Monsignore  Gruerra,  equally  interested  in  the  concealment  of 
the  crime,  resolved  to  make  sure  of  the  discretion  of  Marzio  and 
Olimpio,  and  hired  a  bravo  to  dispatch  them.  Olimpio  was  ac- 
cordingly murdered  near  Turin  ;  but  Marzio,  being  arrested  at 
Naples  for  a  fresh  crime,  declared  himself  guilty  of  Count 
Cenci's  death,  and  had  related  every  particular.  This  new 
evidence  being  instantly  forwarded  to  the  papal  government 
by  that  of  Naples,  Beatrice  and  Lucrezia  were  put  under  arrest 
in  the  Cenci  palace,  and  Giacomo  and  Bernardino  imprisoned 
at  Corte-Savella.  Marzio  was  soon  after  brought  to  Rome  and 
confronted  with  the  members  of  the  Cenci  family.  But  when 
he  beheld  that  Beatrice,  whom  he  so  fondly  loved,  standing  be- 
fore him  as  a  prisoner — her  fate  hanging  upon  the  words  he 
should  utter — he  retracted  his  confession,  and  boldly  declared 
that  his  former  statement  at  Naples  was  totally  false.  He  was 
put  to  the  most  cruel  torture  ;  but  he  persisted  in  his  denial, 
and  expired  upon  the  rack. 

The  Cenci  now  seemed  absolved  from  the  accusation.  But 
the  murderer  of  Olimpio  being  arrested,  as  Marzio  had  been, 
for  a  different  offence,  voluntarily  accused  himself  of  this  mur- 
der, which  he  had  perpetrated,  he  said,  in  obedience  to  the 
commands  of  Monsignore  Gruerra.  As  Olimpio  had  also  made 
some  disclosures  before  he  died,  the  confession  of  his  assassin 
was  considered  so  conclusive,  that  the  whole  of  the  prisoners 
were  conveyed  to  the  castle  of  St.  Angelo.  Gruerra,  seriously 
alarmed  at  the  declaration  of  the  bravo,  fled  from  Rome  in  dis- 
guise, and,  after  encountering  many  perils,  succeeded  in  leaving 
Italy.  His  flight  was  a  confirmation  of  the  evidence,  and  pro- 
ceeding against  the  Cenci  family  were  immediately  commenced. 

Criminal  process  in  those  days,  as  in  the  two  succeeding  cen- 
turies, was  the  mere  application  of  physical  torture  to  extort  au 


• 


166  BEATRICE     CENCI. 

avowal  of  the  crime  imputed  ;  for  the  law  had  humanely  pro- 
vided that  no  criminal  could  be  convicted  but  upon  his  own 
confession.  The  rack  was,  therefore,  termed  the  question,  and 
was,  in  fact,  the  only  form  of  interrogatory.  Thus,  if  an  ac- 
cused was  innocent,  and  had  the  energy  of  soul  to  brave  the 
torture,  he  must  bear  it  till  he  died  ;  but  if  nature  was  subdued 
by  pain,  he  accused  himself  falsely,  and  was  put  to  death  on 
the  scaffold.  Such  was  the  justice  administered  by  men  calling 
themselves  Christian  prelates  ! 

The  question  was  applied  to  the  Cenci.  Lucrezia,  Giacomo, 
and  Bernardino,  unable  to  bear  the  agony,  made  a  full  confession  ; 
but  Beatrice  strenuously  persisted  in  the  denial  of  the  murder. 
Her  beautiful  limbs  were  torn  by  the  instruments  of  torture  ; 
but  by  her  eloquence  and  address  she  completely  foiled  the  tri- 
bunal. The  judges  were  greatly  embarrassed — they  dared  not 
pronounce  judgment,  and  their  president,  Ulisse  Moscatino.  re- 
ported the  state  of  the  proceedings  to  the  Pope,  then  Clement 
VIII. 

The  Pontiff,  fearing  that  Moscatino  had  been  touched  by  the 
extreme  beauty  of  Beatrice,  appointed  a  new  president,  and  the 
question  was  again  applied.  The  unhappy  girl  bore  the  most 
intense  agony  without  flinching  ;  nothing  could  be  elicited  from 
her  but  a  denial  of  the  crime  with  which  she  was  charged.  At 
length  the  judges  ordered  her  hair  to  be  cut  off.  This  last  in- 
dignity broke  her  spirit,  and  her  resolution  gave  way.  She  now 
declared  that  she  was  ready  to  confess,  but  only  in  the  presence 
of  her  family.  Lucrezia  and  Giacomo  were  immediately  intro- 
duced ;  and  when  they  saw  her  stretched  upon  the  rack,  pale 
and  exhausted,  her  delicate  limbs  mangled  and  bleeding,  they 
threw  themselves  beside  her,  and  wept  bitterly. 

"  Dear  sister  !"  said  Giacomo,  "  we  committed  the  crime,  and 


BEATRICE     CENCI.  167 

have  confessed  it.  There  is  now  no  further  vise  in  your  allowing 
yourself  to  be  so  cruelly  tortured." 

"  It  is  not  of  sufferings  such  as  these,  that  we  ought  to  com- 
plain," Beatrice  replied,  in  a  faint  voice.  "  I  felt  much  greater 
anguish  on  the  day  I  first  saw  a  foul  stain  cast  upon  our  ancient 
and  honorable  house.  As  you  must  die,  would  it  not  have  been 
better  to  have  died  under  the  most  acute  tortures,  than  to  endure 
the  disgrace  of  a  public  execution  !" 

This  idea  threw  her  into  strong  convulsions.  She  soon,  how- 
ever, recovered,  and  thus  resumed — "  God's  will  be  done  !  It 
is  your  wish  that  I  should  confess — well !  be  it  so."  Then  turn- 
ing to  the  tribunal,  "  Read  me,"  said  she,  "  the  confession  of 
my  family,  and  I  will  add  what  is  necessary." 

She  was  now  unbound,  and  the  whole  proceedings  read  to  her. 
She,  however,  signed  the  confession  without  adding  a  word. 

The  four  prisoners  were  now  conveyed  to  Corte-Savella,  where 
a  room  had  been  prepared  for  their  reception.  Here  they  were 
allowed  to  dine  together,  and  in  the  evening  the  two  brothers 
were  removed  to  the  prison  of  Tardinova. 

The  Pope  condemned  the  Cenci  to  be  dragged  through  the 
streets  of  Rome  by  wild  horses.  This  was  a  cruel  sentence — 
more  especially  as  it  emanated  from  the  head  of  the  Catholic 
Church,  and  was  quite  arbitrary.  The  prelates  and  Roman 
nobility  were  struck  with  pity  and  indignation.  A  species  of 
sophistry  which  did  much  more  honor  to  their  humanity  than  to 
their  judgment,  led  them  to  urge  in  extenuation,  nay,  almost  in 
justification  of  the  crime,  the  provocation  received,  and  the  series 
of  monstrous  attrocities  committed  by  the  late  Count  Cenci. 
They  made  the  most  energetic  remonstrances  to  the  Pope,  who, 
much  against  his  will,  granted  a  respite  of  three  days  and  a 
hearing  by  couusel. 


168  BEATRICE     CENCI. 

The  most  celebrated  advocates  at  Rome  offered  their  services 
on  this  occasion,  and  Nicolo  di  Angeli,  the  most  eloquent  among 
them,  pleaded  the  cause  of  the  Cenci  so  powerfully,  that  Cle- 
ment was  roused  to  anger. 

"  What !"  he  exclaimed  indignantly,  "  shall  children  murder 
their  parent,  and  a  Christian  advocate  attempt  to  justify  such  a 
crime,  before  the  Head  of  the  Church  ?" 

The  counsel  were  intimidated ;  but  Farinacci,  another  advo- 
cate, rose  and  addressing  the  Pope — 

"  Holy  Father  !"  said  he,  with  firmness,  "  we  come  not  hither 
to  employ  our  talents  in  making  so  odious  a  crime  appear  a 
virtue,  but  to  defend  the  innocent,  if  it  please  your  Holiness  to 
give  us  a  hearing." 

The  Pope  made  no  reply,  but  listened  to  Farinacci  with  great 
patience,  during  four  hours.  He  then  dismissed  the  advocates, 
and  withdrew  with  Cardinal  Marcello,  to  reconsider  the  case. 

Doubtless,  the  parricide  can  find  no  extenuation  of  his  crime  ; 
nevertheless  the  circumstances  between  Beatrice  and  her  father 
were  so  monstrous — the  latter  was  such  a  fiend  upon  earth,  and 
each  of  the  prisoners  had  been  so  cruelly  tortured  by  him,  that 
the  Pope  determined  to  mitigate  the  severity  of  his  sentence. 
He  was  about  to  commute  it  into  imprisonment  for  life,  when 
news  reached  Rome  that  the  princess  Costanza  di  Santa-Croce 
had  been  murdered  at  Subiaco  by  her  son,  because  she  had  re- 
fused to  make  a  will  in  his  favor.  This  event  again  roused 
Clement's  severity,  and  on  the  10th  of  September,  1599,  he 
directed  Monsignore  Taberna,  governor  of  Rome,  to  resume 
proceedings  against  the  Cenci,  and  let  the  law  take  its  course. 

The  whole  family  were  to  be  publicly  beheaded  in  three  days. 
Farinacci  again  came  forward  and  pleaded  the  cause  of  Bernar- 
dino, who  had  not  been  an  accomplice  or  even  privy  to  the 


BEATRICE*   CENCI.  169 

crime,  and  succeeded  in  obtaining  his  pardon  ;  but  on  the  horri- 
ble condition  that  he  should  attend  the  execution  of  the  others. 

The  day  before  the  execution,  at  five  o'clock  in  the  afternoon, 
the  ministers  of  justice  arrived  at  Corte-Savella,  to  read  the 
sentence  of  the  law  to  the  wife  and  daughter  of  the  murdered 
Count'  Cenci.  Beatrice  was  in  a  sound  sleep  ;  the  judges  sur- 
rounded her  in  silence,  and  the  solemn  voice  of  the  segretario 
roused  her  from  her  last  slumber  in  this  world. 

The  idea  of  a  public  exposure  upon  the  scaffold  threw  her  into 
an  agony  of  grief ;  but  her  mind  soon  recovered  its  tone,  and 
she  calmly  prepared  for  death. 

She  began  by  making  her  will,  in  which  she  directed  that  her 
body  should  be  buried  in  the  church  of  San-Pietro  in  Montorio. 
She  bequeathed  three  hundred  Roman  crowns  to  the  congrega- 
tion of  the  Sante-Piaghe,  and  her  own  dower  as  a  marriage 
portion  to  fifty  portionless  girls. 

There  is  a  strange  serenity  in  this  contemplation  of  conjugal 
life  from  the  brink  of  the  grave,  especially  by  a  young  girl  about 
to  expiate,  on  the  scaffold,  the  murder  of  her  father.  But  the 
history  of  Beatrice  Cenci  is  still  involved  in  mystery,  and  it  is 
therefore  difficult  to  trace  the  workings  of  her  mind. 

"  Now,"  said  she  to  Lucrezia,  "  let  us  prepare  to  meet  death 
with  decency." 

The  fatal  hour  struck,  and  the  nuns  of  the  congregation  of 
the  Sette-Dolori  came  to  conduct  the  prisoners  to  the  place  of 
death.  They  found  Beatrice  at  prayers,  but  firm  and  reso- 
lute. 

Meanwhile,  her  two  brothers  had  left  Tardinova,  escorted  by 
the  congregation  of  Penitents.  The  celebrated  picture  of  Piety, 
presented  by  Michael  Angelo  for  the  sole  use  of  dying  criminals, 
was  borne  before  them.  They  were  thus  taken  before  a  judge, 


170  BEATRICE     CENCI. 

who,  after  reading  Giacomo's  sentence  to  him,  turned  to  Bernar- 
dino,— 

"  Signor  Cenci,"  he  said,  "  our  most  Holy  Father  grants  you 
your  life.  Return  thanks  for  his  clemency.  You  are  condemned 
to  proceed  to  the  place  of  execution,  and  witness  the,  death  of  your 
family  /" 

The  moment  the  judge  had  done  speaking,  the  Penitents  struck 
up  a  hymn  of  thanksgiving,  and  withdrew  the  picture  from  be- 
fore Bernardino,  who  was  now  placed  in  a  separate  cart,  and  the 
procession  again  moved  forward.  During  the  whole  of  the 
route,  Giacomo  was  tortured  with  red-hot  pincers.  He  bore  the 
pain  with  marvelous  fortitude — not  a  sigh  escaped  him. 

They  stopped  at  the  gate  of  Corte-Savella  to  take  Beatrice 
and  Lucrezia,  who  came  forth  covered  with  their  veils.  That 
of  Beatrice  was  of  gray  muslin,  embroidered  with  silver.  She 
wore  a  purple  petticoat,  white  shoes,  and  a  very  high  dress  of 
gray  silk,  with  wide  sleeves,  which  she  had  made  during  the 
night.  Both  held  a  crucifix  in  one  hand  and  a  white  pocket 
handkerchief  in  the  other ;  for  though  their  arms  were  lightly 
bound  with  cords,  their  hands  were  perfectly  free.  Beatrice 
had  just  entered  her  twentieth  year — never  had  she  appeared 
more  lovely.  There  was,  in  her  suffering  countenance,  an  ex- 
pression of  resignation  and  fortitude,  a  calmness  of  religious 
hope,  that  drew  tears  from  the  spectators.  She  kept  up  her 
step-mother's  courage,  as  they  proceeded,  and  whenever  they 
passed  a  church  or  a  Madonna,  she  prayed  aloud  with  great 
fervency. 

On  reaching  the  Ponte  St.  Angelo,  near  which  the  scaffold 
was  erected,  the  prisoners  were  placed  in  a  small  temporary 
chapel  prepared  for  them,  where  they  spent  a  short  time  in 
prayer.  Giacomo,  though  the  last  executed,  was  the  first  to 


BEATRICE     CENCI.  171 

ascend  the  scaffold,  and  Bernardino  was  placed  by  his  side. 
The  unhappy  youth  fainted,  and  was  firmly  bound  to  a  chair. 
Beatrice  and  Lucrezia  were  then  led  forth  from  the  chapel. 
An  immense  concourse  of  people  had  assembled,  and  ,each 
bosom  throbbed  with  painful  interest. 

At  this  moment  three  guns  were  fired  from  the  castle  of 
St.  Angelo.  It  was  a  signal  to  inform  the  Pope  that  the  prison- 
ers were  ready  for  execution.  On  hearing  it,  Clement  became 
agitated,  and  wept ;  then  falling  on  his  knees,  he  gave  the 
Cenci  full  absolution,  which  was  communicated  to  them  in  his 
name.  The  assembled  spectators  knelt,  and  prayed  aloud  ;  and 
thousands  of  hands  were  lifted  up  in  deprecation  of  Grod's  wrath 
upon  the  blood-stained  criminals  about  to  appear  before  his 
eternal  throne. 

Lucrezia  was  the  first  led  forward  for  execution.  The 
minister  of  the  law  stripped  her  to  the  waist.  The  unfortunate 
woman  trembled  excessively — not  indeed  from  fear,  but  from 
the  gross  violation  of  decency,  in  thus  exposing  her  to  the  gaze 
of  the  multitude. 

"  Great  God  !"  she  cried,  "  spare  me  this.  Oh  !  mercy, 
mercy  !" 

The  particulars  of  Lucrezia's  execution  are  disgusting  and 
horrible  ;  for  the  sake  of  human  nature,  such  atrocities  should 
be  buried  in  eternal  silence. '  When  her  head  fell,  it  made  three 
bounds,  as  if  appealing  against  such  cruelty.  The  boja,  after  hold- 
ing it  up  to  the  terrified  spectators,  covered  it  with  a  silk  veil, 
and  placed  it  in  the  coffin  with  her  body.  He  then  reset  the  axe 
for  Beatrice,  who  was  on  her  knees  in  fervent  prayer.  Having 
prepared  the  instrument  of  death,  he  rudely  seized  her  arm,  with 
hands  besmeared  with  the  blood  of  her  step-mother.  She  in- 
stantly arose,  and  said,  in  a  firm  and  strongly  accentuated  voice  : 


172  BEATRICE     CENCI. 

"  0  my  divine  Saviour,  who  didst  die  upon  the  cross  for  me 
and  for  all  mankind  ;  grant,  I  beseech  thee,  that  one  drop  of 
thy  precious  blood  may  insure  my  salvation,  and  that,  guilty  as 
I  am,  thou  wilt  admit  me  into  thy  heavenly  paradise." 

Then  presenting  her  arms  for  the  boja  to  bind  them, — 

"  Thou  art  about,"  she  said,  "  to  bind  my  body  for  its 
punishment ;  mayest  thou  likewise  unbind  my  soul  for  its  eter- 
nal salvation  !" 

She  walked  to  the  block  with  a  firm  step,  and,  as  she  knelt, 
took  every  precaution  that  female  delicacy  could  suggest ;  then 
calmly  laying  down  her  head,  it  was  severed  by  a  single  stroke. 

Bernardino  was  two  years  younger  than  his  sister  Beatrice, 
whom  he  tenderly  loved.  When  he  saw  her  head  roll  upon  the 
scaffold,  he  again  fainted.  But  cruelty  is  ever  active  ;  and  he 
was  recalled  to  life,  that  he  might  witness  the  death  of  his 
brother. 

Giacomo  was  covered  with  a  mourning  cloak.  Upon  its  re- 
moval, a  cry  of  horror  issued  from  the  spectators,  at  the  sight 
of  his  mangled  and  bleeding  body.  He  approached  Ber- 
nardino— 

"  Dear  brother,"  said  he,  "  if,  on  the  rack,  I  said  anything 
to  criminate  you,  it  was  drawn  from  me  by  the  intense  agony  I 
endured ;  and,  although  I  have  already  contradicted  it,  I  here 
solemnly  declare  that  you  are  entirely  innocent,  and  that  your 
being  brought  hither  to  witness  our  execution,  is  a  wanton  and 
atrocious  piece  of  cruelty.  Pardon  me,  my  brother,  and  pray 
for  us  all." 

He  then  knelt  upon  the  scaffold,  and  began  to  pray.  The 
boja  placed  a  bandage  over  his  eyes,  and  struck  him  a  violent 
blow  across  the  right  temple,  with  a  bar  of  iron.  He  fell  with- 
out a  groan,  and  his  body  was  divided  into  four  parts. 


BEATRICE     CENCI.  173 

The  congregation  of  Sante-Piaghe  conveyed  Bernardino  back 
to  his  prison,  where,  during  four  days,  he  remained  in  dreadful 
convulsions  ;  and  for  a  long  time  after  both  his  reason  and  his 
life  were  despaired  of.  The  bodies  of  Beatrice  and  Lucrezia, 
together  with  the  severed  quarters  of  Giacomo,  were  exposed 
till  the  evening,  at  the  foot  of  Saint  Paul's  statue,  on  the  Ponte 
St.  Angelo.  The  congregations  then  took  them  away.  The 
body  of  Beatrice  was  received  by  venerable  matrons,  who,  after 
washing  and  perfuming  it,  clothed  it  in  white,  and  surrounded  it 
with  flowers,  consecrated  candles,  and  vases  of  incense.  It  was 
ultimately  placed  in  a  magnificent  coffin,  conveyed  to  the 
church  of  San  Pietro  in  Montorio,  by  the  light  of  more  than  five 
hundred  torches,  and  there  buried,  at  the  foot  of  the  great 
altar,  under  the  celebrated  transfiguration  by  Raphael. 

Bernardino  was  the  only  survivor  of  this  unhappy  family,  and 
the  last  male  heir  of  his  race.  He  married  a  Bologuetti,  and 
left  an  only  daughter,  who  changed  the  name  of  the  Cenci 
palace  ;  and  from  this  marriage,  the  building  came  into  the 
possession  of  the  Bologuetti  family,  to  whom  it  still  belongs. 

The  old  Cenci  palace  is  in  the  most  gloomy  and  obscure 
quarter  of  Rome.  Its  massive  and  sullen  architecture,  and  its 
neglected  and  deserted  appearance,  accord  perfectly  with  the 
tragical  associations  connected  with  it.  One  window,  which  is 
fronted  with  an  open-work  balcony,  may  have  belonged  to  the 
very  chamber  of  Beatrice  ;  and  a  dark  and  lofty  archway,  built 
of  immense  stones,  may  have  been  that  through  which  she  went 
out  to  the  prison  which  she  left  only  for  the  scaffold. 

In  the  old  Barberini  palace  is  Guido's  portrait  of  Beatrice, 
taken,  according  to  the  family  tradition,  on  the  night  before  her 
execution.  Shelly's  tragedy  has  made  her  sad  story  familiar  to 
English  readers,  and  his  description  of  this  picture  leaves 


174  BEATRICE     CENCI. 

nothing  to  be  added ;  though  no  words,  nor  even  copies,  can 
give  any  idea  of  her  touching  loveliness,  her  expression  of 
patient  suffering,  her  quivering,  half-parted  lips,  and  tender 
hazel  eyes  of  a  beauty  unattained  on  any  other  canvas  in  the 
world  ;  but  her  half-turned  head,  with  its  golden  locks  escaping 
from  the  folds  of  its  white  drapery,  haunts  your  memory,  as  if 
you,  too,  like  Gruido,  had  caught  a  last  glimpse  of  her  as  she 
mounted  the  scaffold. 


«}  i)    £  o  1  e  I)  i) . 


All  BOSItff, 

WHEN  the  sister  of  Henry  VIII.,  a  young  and  blooming  girl 
of  sixteen,  arrived  in  France  to  wed  Louis  XIL,  a  monarch  old 
enough  to  be  her  grandfather,  she  was  attended  by  several 
young  ladies  belonging  to  the  noblest  families  of  England. 
Among  them  was  Ann  Boleyn,  celebrated  not  only  by  her  mis- 
fortunes and  untimely  end,  but  on  account  of  her  being  the 
immediate  cause  of  the  reformation,  or  establishment  of  the 
Protestant  religion  in  England.  Hers  is  an  eventful  history. 

Ann  was  the  daughter  of  Sir  Thomas  Boleyn,  a  gentleman 
allied  to  the  noblest  houses  in  the  kingdom.  His  mother  was 
of  the  house  of  Ormond,  and  his  grandfather,  when  mayor  of 
London,  had  married  one  of  the  daughters  of  Lord  Hastings. 
Lady  Boleyn,  Ann's  mother,  was  a  daughter  of  the  Duke  of 
Norfolk.  Sir  Thomas  Boleyn  being  a  man  of  talent,  had  been 
employed  by  the  king  in  several  diplomatic  missions,  which  he 
had  successfully  executed.  When  the  Princess  Mary  left 
England  to  wear,  for  three  short  months,  the  crown  of  Queen 
Consort  of  France,  Ann  was  very  young  ;  she  therefore  finished 
her  education  at  the  French  Court,  where  her  beauty  and  ac- 
complishments were  highly  valued.  After  the  death  of  Louis 
XII.,  his  young  widow  having  married  Brandon,  Duke  of  Suf- 
folk, and  returned  to  England,  Ann  entered  the  service  of 
Claude,  wife  of  Francis  I.  On  the  death  of  this  queen,  she 
had  an  appointment  in  the  household  of  the  Duchess  of  Alen- 


178  ANN     BOLEYN 


£on,  a  very  distinguished  princess  ;  but  she  retained  it  only  a 
few  months,  and  then  returned  to  her  native  country. 

The  precise  period  of  her  arrival  in  England  is  not  accurately 
known  ;  but  it  was  a  fatal  day  for  Catherine  of  Arragon,  to 
whom  she  was  soon  after  appointed  maid  of  honor.  In  this 
situation  she  had  frequent  opportunities  of  conversing  with  the 
v  king  ;  he  was  not  proof  against  her  fascinations,  and  became 
deeply  enamored  of  her.  But  Henry's  was  the  love  of  the  sen- 
sualist— its  only  aim  was  self-gratification — and  wherever  it  fell, 
it  withered  or  destroyed. 

Until  Henry  beheld  Ann  Boleyn,  he  had  never  expressed 
any  dissatisfaction  at  his  marriage  with  Catherine.  On  a 
sudden  he  conceived  scruples  with  regard  to  this  union.  It 
was  monstrous — it  was  incestuous,  he  said  ;  and  he  could  not 
reconcile  it  to  his  conscience  to  consider  his  brother's  widow 
any  longer  his  wife.  It  is  true,  that  Catherine  had  gone 
through  a  ceremony  at  the  altar,  with  Arthur,  Prince  of  Wales, 
Henry's  elder  brother  ;  but  the  prince  had  died  soon  after, 
being  then  only  seventeen  years  of  age.  And  when  political 
reasons  subsequently  led  to  the  marriage  between  Catherine  and 
Henry,  the  new  Prince  of  Wales  felt  no  scruples — nay,  his 
conscience  slumbered  twenty  years  before  it  was  awakened  to  a 
sense  of  the  enormity  which  now  afflicted  him. 

But  awakened  at  length  it  was  ;  and  it  appeared  to  him 
under  the  form  of  a  young  girl  beaming  with  beauty,  wit,  and 
loveliness.  The  conversation  and  manners  of  Ann  Boleyn  had  a 
peculiar  charm,  which  threw  all  the  other  English  ladies  into 
the  shade.  She  had  acquired  it  at  the  most  polished  and 
elegant,  but  perhaps  the  most  licentious,  court  in  Europe  ;  and 
when  Henry,  fascinated  by  her  wit,  gazed  with  rapture  on  her 
fair  form — when  he  listened  with  intense  delight  to  her  thought- 


ANN     BOLEYN.  179 


less  sallies,  and  madly  loved  on,  little  did  she  think  that,  while 
her  conduct  was  pure,  this  very  thoughtlessness  of  speech  would 
one  day  be  expiated  by  a  public  and  disgraceful  death. 

Ann  refused  to  become  the  king's  mistress  ;  for  she  very 
justly  thought,  that  the  more  elevated  dishonor  is,  the  more 
clearly  it  is  perceived. 

"  My  birth  is  noble  enough,"  she  said,  "  to  entitle  me  to 
become  your  wife.  If  it  be  true,  as  you  assert,  that  your  mar- 
riage with  the  queen  is  incestuous,  let  a  divorce  be  publicly  pro- 
nounced, and  I  am  yours." 

This  sealed  the  fate  of  Catherine  of  Arragon.  Henry  imme- 
diately directed  Cardinal  Wolsey,  his  prime  minister  and 
favorite,  to  write  to  Rome,  and  obtain  a  brief  from  the  Pope, 
annulling  his  marriage.  Knight,  the  king's  secretary,  was  like- 
wise dispatched  thither  to  hasten  the  conclusion  of  this  business. 

Clement  VII.  then  filled  the  pontiff's  throne.  Timid  and 
irresolute,  he  dreaded  the  anger  of  the  Emperor  Charles  V., 
Catherine's  nephew,  who  kept  him  almost  a  prisoner,  and  would 
naturally  avenge  any  insult  offered  to  his  aunt.  Clement, 
therefore,  eluded  giving  a  definitive  answer.  But  being  pressed 
by  the  King  of  France,  who  was  the  more  ready,  from  his 
hatred  of  the  emperor,  to  advocate  Henry's  cause  on  this  occa- 
sion, the  Pope  at  length  consented  to  acknowledge  that  Julius 
II.  had  no  power  to  issue  a  bull  authorizing  Catherine's  marriage 
with  her  brother-in-law.  This  declaration  was  a  serious  attack 
upon  the  infallibility  of  the  popes  ;  but  Clement's  situation  was 
perilous,  and  the  only  chance  he  had  of  freeing  himself  from 
the  thraldom  of  Charles  V.  was  by  conciliating  the  King's  of 
England  and  France.  But,  on  the  other  hand,  he  was  anxious 
to  bring  about  the  re-establishment  of  his  house  at  Florence, 
which  he  thought  the  emperor  alone  could  effect.  Moreover, 


180  ANN     BOLEYN. 


Charles  had  a  large  army  in  Italy,  constantly  threatening  Rome. 
The  pontiff  had  likewise  some  other  grounds  of  alarm.  It  is 
known  that  illegitimate  children  are  excluded  from  the  papal 
throne,  and  Clement  was  the  natural  son  of  Julian  de  Medicis  ; 
for  though,  if  we  believe  the  authority  of  Leo  X.,  a  promise  of 
marriage  had  existed  between  his  parents,  it  did  not  efface  the 
stain.  Nor  was  this  all :  in  defiance  of  the  severe  laws  of 
Julius  II.  against  simony,  Clement  had  been  guilty  of  that 
crime,  and  Cardinal  Colonna  had  a  note  of  hand  in  his  posses- 
sion, subscribed  by  the  Pope,  and  applied  to  facilitate  his  ac- 
cession to  the  chair  of  St.  Peter.  The  emperor  was  aware  of 
both  these  facts ;  and  taking  advantage  of  Clement's  timidity  of 
character,  constantly  threatened  to  assemble  a  general  council 
and  have  him  deposed. 

Thus  was  the  pontiff  urged  to  opposite  acts  by  the  rival 
monarchs ;  and  his  struggle  between  such  contending  interests 
led  to  that  long  ambiguity  of  conduct  and  ultimate  decision 
which  severed  England  from  the  Church  of  Rome. 

Meanwhile,  a  secret  marriage,  it  is  said,  had  taken  place 
between  Henry  VIII.  and  Ann  Boleyn  ;  and  what  seems  to 
confirm  this,  is  the  activity  Ann  displayed  in  pressing  Cardinal 
Wolsey,  and  Stephen  Gardiner,  his  secretary,  to  bring  the 
divorce  to  a  conclusion.  The  following  is  a  letter  which  she 
wrote  to  the  cardinal,  at  a  time  when  a  contagious  disease  raged 
in  London,  and  she  had  retired  to  a  country  residence  with  the 
king.  It  is  a  good  specimen  of  her  mind  and  character  : — 

"  My  Lord, 

"  In  my  most  humblest  wise  that  my  heart  can  think,  I 
desire  you  to  pardon  me  that  I  am  so  bold  to  trouble  you  with 
my  simple  and  rude  writing,  esteeming  it  to  proceed  from  her 


ANN     BOLEYN.  181 


that  is  much  desirous  to  know  that  your  grace  does  well,  as  I 
perceive  by  this  bearer  that  you  do. .  The  which  I  pray  God 
long  to  continue,  as  I  am  most  bound  to  pray ;  for  I  do  know 
the  great  pains  and  troubles  that  you  have  taken  for  me  both 
day  and  night,  is  never  like  to  be  recompensed  on  my  part,  but 
alonely  in  loving  you  next  unto  the  king's  grace,  above  all 
creatures  living.  And  I  do  not  doubt  but  the  daily  proofs  of 
my  deeds  shall  manifestly  declare  and  affirm  my  writing  to  be 
true,  and  I  do  trust  that  you  do  think  the  same.  My  Lord,  I 
do  assure  you  I  do  long  to  hear  from  you  news  of  the  legate  ; 
for  I  do  hope  and  they  come  from  you  they  shall  be  very  good  ; 
and  I  am  sure  you  desire  it  as  much  as  I,  and  more,  and  it 
were  possible,  as  I  know  it  is  not ;  and  thus  remaining  in  a 
steadfast  hope,  I  make  an  end  of  my  letter,  written  with  the 
hand  of  her  that  is  bound  to  be, 

"  Your  humble  servant, 

"  ANN  BOLEYN." 

Underneath  the  King  had  added  : — 

"  The  writer  of  this  letter  would  not  cease  till  she  had  caused 
me  likewise  to  set  my  hand ;  desiring  you,  though  it  be  short,  to 
take  it  in  good  part.  T  insure  you  there  is  neither  of  us  but 
that  greatly  desireth  to  see  you,  and  much  more  joyous  to  hear 
that  you  have  escaped  this  plague  so  well,  trusting  the  fury 
thereof  to  be  passed,  specially  with  them  that  keepeth  good 
diet,  as  I  trust  you  do.  The  not  hearing  of  the  legate's  arrival 
in  France,  causeth  us  somewhat  to  muse  ;  notwithstanding,  we 
trust,  by  your  diligence  and  vigilancy  (with  the  assistance  of 
Almighty  Grod)  shortly  to  be  eased  out  of  that  trouble.  No 
more  to  you  at  this  time  ;  but  that  I  pray  Grod  send  you  as  good 
health  and  prosperity  as  the  writer  would.  By  your 

"  Loving  Sovereign  and  Friend,  HENRY  K." 


182  ANN     BOLEYN 


Though  the  king  had  fled  from  the  contagion  with  Ann 
Boleyn,  he  had  given  no  orders  to  enable  Catherine  to  leave 
London  ;  and  she  remained  there  exposed  to  the  danger  of  the 
plague.  No  doubt  the  possibility  of  her  death  had  occurred  to 
Henry's  mind,  and  the  reckless  attrocity  of  his  character  may 
justify  the  inference,  that  he  had  left  her  in  London  for  the 
express  purpose  of  exposing  her  to  die  of  the  disease,  and  thus 
at  once  settling  the  divorce  question. 

Just  as  the  Pope's  brief  for  the  divorce  was  about  to  be  issued, 
the  sacking  of  Rome  took  place,  and  the  Pontiff  remained  dur- 
ing a  whole  year  imprisoned  in  the  castle  of  St.  Angelo.  On 
being  set  at  liberty  by  the  Emperor,  he  was  afraid  to  pronounce 
the  dishonor  of  Charles's  aunt,  whose  complaints  resounded 
throughout  Europe.  At  length,  to  temporize  with  all  parties, 
and  not  lose  sight  of  his  own  interest,  he  appointed  Cardinal 
Campeggio,  his  legate  in  England,  for  the  purpose  of  trying  the 
question,  but  gave  him  secret  orders  to  proceed  as  slowly  as  pos- 
sible. The  new  legate  was  old  and  afflicted  with  gout,  severe 
attacks  of  which  were  his  ever-ready  excuse  for  procrastination  ; 
and  it  took  him  ten  months  to  travel  from  Rome  to  London. 

Ann  Boleyn,  on  hearing  that  the  legate  was  at  last  on  his  way 
to  England,  again  wrote  to  Wolsey,  expressing  her  gratitude  in 
strong  terms. 

"  And  as  for  the  coming  of  the  legate,"  she  said,  in  this 
letter,  "  I  desire  that  much,  and  if  it  be  God's  pleasure,  I  pray 
him  to  send  this  matter  shortly  to  a  good  end,  and  then  I  trust, 
my  lord,  to  recompense  part  of  your  great  pains.  In  the  which 
I  must  require  you  in  the  meantime  to  accept  my  good  will,  in 
the  stead  of  the  power,  the  which  must  proceed  partly  from 
you,  as  our  Lord  knoweth ;  to  whom  I  beseech  to  send  you 
long  life,  with  continuance  in  honor." 


ANN     BOLEYN.  183 


But  Catherine  was  by  no  means  so  grateful  as  Ann  for  the 
pains  that  Wolsey  took  to  constitute  an  arbitrary  and  iniquitous 
tribunal,  and  she  called  him  a  heretic  and  abettor  of  adultery. 
This  the  cardinal-minister  little  heeded,  for  he  had  the  king 
and  the  king's  mistress  on  his  side  ;  and  the  host  of  flatterers  by 
whom  he  was  surrounded  made  him  believe  that  his  power  was 
too  firmly  established  ever  to  be  shaken. 

Wolsey  had  greatly  contributed  to  bring  about  Henry's  con- 
nection with  Ann  Boleyn,  because  he  thought  that  such  a  pas- 
sion would  absorb  the  king's  time,  and  make  him  careless  of 
business,  by  which  the  minister  would  become  master  of  the 
kingdom.  Queen  Catherine,  with  her  oratory,  her  rosary,  and 
her  religious  austerity,  was  not  the  queen  that  suited  Wolsey's 
views.  She  had  nothing  to  attract  the  king  from  the  cares  and 
business  of  his  kingdom.  Ann  Boleyn,  on  the  contrary,  was  a 
creature  formed  of  love  ;  she  was  always  gay,  happy,  and  en- 
dearing when  in  Henry's  company.  The  king,  therefore,  over- 
come by  a  fascination  which  he  could  not  resist,  bent  his  neck 
to  her  yoke,  and  left  the  governance  of  his  dominions  in  the 
hands  of  his  ambitious  minister. 

When  once  the  flowery  chain  had  encircled  Henry,  Wolsey 
little  cared  whether  it  was  sanctified  or  not  by  religion.  In  his 
corrupt  mind,  he  perhaps  thought  it  might  be  more  durable,  if 
it  did  not  obtain  the  sanction  of  the  Church.  But  he  at  length 
received  the  Pope's  commission,  and  Campeggio  arrived  in  Eng- 
land ;  he,  therefore,  took  his  measures  with  the  legate,  and  they 
opened  their  tribunal.  To  keep  up  an  appearance  of  propriety, 
Ann  immediately  left  London. 

The  two  cardinals,  having  opened  their  court  in  London,  cited 
the  king  and  queen  to  appear  before  them.  Both  obeyed  ;  and 
when  Henry's  name  was  called,  he  rose  and  answered  to  it. 


184  ANN     BOLEYN. 


The  queen  was  dressed  in  mourning  ;  her  countenance  was  calm, 
though  it  but  ill  disguised  the  anguish  of  her  mind.  When  the 
legate  pronounced  the  words  "  Most  high,  most  powerful,  and 
most  illustrious  Lady  and  Princess,"  Catherine,  without  looking 
at  him,  or  making  any  reply,  rose  and  threw  herself  at  the  king's 
feet,  embracing  his  knees,  and  suffusing  them  with  her  tears. 
She  urged,  she  entreated,  she  conjured  him  by  all  that  is  most 
sacred  to  man,  not  to  cast  her  off ;  but  she  sought  in  vain  to 
soften  a  heart  absorbed  by  love  for  another.  She  did  not,  how- 
ever, thus  humble  herself  for  her  own  sake  ;  she  was  supplicating 
for  her  daughter,  whom  the  decision  of  the  legates  might  stamp 
with  illegitimacy  and  dishonor. 

"  Sir,"  said  she,  "  what  is  this  tribunal  ?  Have  you  convoked 
it  to  try  me  ?  And  wherefore  ?  Have  I  committed  any  crime  ? 
No  :  I  am  innocent,  and  you  alone  have  authority  over  me. 
You  are  my  only  support,  my  sole  protector.  I  am  but  a  poor 
weak  woman,  alone,  defenceless,  and  ready  to  fall  under  the 
attacks  of  my  enemies.  When  I  left  my  family  and  my  coun- 
try, it  was  because  I  relied  on  English  good  faith  ;  and  now,  in 
this  foreign  land,  am  I  cut  off  from  my  friends  and  kindred,  and 
deserted  by  those  who  once  basked  in  the  sunshine  of  my  favor. 
I  have,  and  desire  to  have,  none  but  you  for  my  support  and 
protection — you,  and  your  honor.  Henry,  do  you  wish  to  de- 
stroy your  daughter's  fame  ?  Consider,  she  is  your  first-born  ! 
And  would  you  suffer  her  to  be  disgraced,  when  I,  her  mother, 
am  innocent,  and  you,  her  father,  a  powerful  sovereign  ?" 

She  then  arose  from  her  kneeling  posture,  and  looking  at  the 
court  with  dignity — 

"  Is  this  the  tribunal,"  said  she,  "  that  would  try  a  Queen  of 
England  ?  It  consists  of  none  but  enemies,  and  not  a  single 
judge.  They  cannot  pronounce  an  equitable  judgment ;  I 


ANN     BOLEYN.  185 


therefore  decline  their  jurisdiction,  and  must  be  excused  from 
heeding  any  further  citations  in  this  matter,  until  I  hear  from 
Spain." 

Having  made  a  profound  obeisance  to  the  king,  she  left  the 
court.  After  her  departure,  the  king  protested  he  had  no  cause 
of  complaint  against  her,  and  that  remorse  of  conscience  was  his 
only  reason  for  demanding  a  divorce. 

The  legates  again  cited  the  queen ;  and  as  she  refused  to  ap- 
pear, they  declared  her  contumacious.  There  was  a  solemn 
mockery  in  the  whole  of  these  iniquitous  proceedings,  that  ren- 
dered them  frightful.  At  length  they  were  drawing  to  a  close  ; 
for  Ann  Boleyn,  who  had  returned  to  London,  was  urging  Wol- 
sey  forward  with  the  full  power  of  her  charms,  and  the  cardinal 
was  by  no  means  insensible  to  her  flatteries.  But  when  Henry 
was  every  moment  expecting  the  judgment  which  would  allow 
him  to  have  Ann  crowned,  Cardinal  Campeggio  announced  that 
the  Pope  had  reserved  to  himself  the  ultimate  examination  of 
the  case,  which  he  had  evoked  to  Rome  before  his  own  tribunal. 

Henry  at  first  raved  and  blasphemed,  denouncing  vengeance 
against  the  pontiff;  but  he  soon  became  calmer,  and  set  about 
finding  a  means  of  overcoming  this  new  obstacle,  and  hurling 
his  own  thunders  in  defiance  of  those  of  the  church.  Ann  wept 
bitterly  at  finding  herself  as  far  from  tHe  throne  as  ever.  But 
how  powerful  were  her  tears !  Henry  vowed  he  would  avenge 
each  of  them  with  an  ocean  of  blood.  Then  it  was  that  he 
threw  off  his  allegiance  to  the  Church  of  Rome,  and  ultimately 
united  both  Church  and  State  under  his  sole  governance. 

Meanwhile,  Ann's  harassed  mind  thirsted  for  vengeance  upon 
some  one,  for  the  annihilation  of  her  hopes.  She  saw  not  yet 
the  means  of  destroying  the  barrier  which  now  stood  betwixt 
her  and  the  throne  ;  and  she  had  need  of  a  victim.  She  found 


186  ANN     BOLEYN. 


one  in  Cardinal  Wolsey.  It  appeared  to  her  unlikely  that  this 
man,  influential  as  he  was  in  the  college  of  cardinals — for  his 
hand  had  once  touched  the  tiara — should  require  months  and 
years  to  do  that  which  he  might  have  finished  in  a  single  day. 
Henry  was  not  a  man  who  required  to  be  told,  a  second  time, 
not  to  love :  Wolsey  had  been  his  favorite,  and  this  was  more 
than  sufficient  to  effect  his  ruin ;  for  the  king's  friendship,  like 
his  love,  proved  a  withering  curse  wherever  it  fell. 

Wolsey  gave  an  entertainment  at  York  House,  a  palace  which 
the  most  magnificent  monarchs  of  Europe  and  Asia  might  have 
looked  upon  with  envious  admiration.  There  he  sat,  free  from 
care,  and  joyously  wearing  away  life,  quaffing  the  choicest 
wines  of  Italy  and  France  in  cups  of  gold  enchased  with  jewels 
and  precious  enamels.  Richly  sculptured  buffets  were  loaded 
with  dishes  of  massive  gold,  sparkling  with  precious  gems.  A 
hundred  servants  wearing  their  master's  arms  emblazoned  on 
then-  liveries,  circulated  round  the  vast  and  fantastically  sumptu- 
ous hall.  Young  girls,  crowned  with  flowers,  burned  perfumes 
and  embalmed  the  air,  whilst  in  an  upper  gallery  a  band  of  the 
most  skillful  musicians  of  Italy  and  Germany  produced  a  ravish- 
ing and  voluptuous  harmony. 

Suddenly  two  men  stood  before  the  cardinal.  Both  were 
powerful  in  the  kingdom ;  and  on  their  appearance,  the  upstart 
minister  was  for  a  moment  awed  into  respect.  One  was  the 
Duke  of  Suffolk,  the  king's  brother-in-law — the  other  was  the 
Duke  of  Norfolk.  They  had  come  with  orders  from  the  king  to 
demand  the  great  seal  from  Wolsey. 

"  I  will  not  deliver  it  up  on  a  mere  verbal  order,"  replied 
the  haughty  priest. 

The  two  noblemen  withdrew,  and  returned  on  the  following 
day  with  a  letter  from  the  king.  Wolsey  then  delivered  the 


ANN     BOLEYN.  187 


seal  into  their  hands,  and  it  was  given  to  Sir  Thomas  More. 
Soon  after,  York  House,  now  Whitehall,  together  with  all  the 
costly  furniture  it  contained,  was  seized  in  the  name  of  the 
king. 

The  fallen  cardinal  was  ordered  to  retire  to  Asher,  a  country- 
seat  he  possessed  near  Hampton  Court.  He  was  pitied  by 
nobody ;  for  the  manner  in  which  he  had  borne  his  honors,  and 
the  general  meanness  of  his  conduct,  had  rendered  him  ex- 
tremely unpopular.  He  wept  like  a  child  at  his  disgrace,  and 
the  least  appearance  of  a  return  to  favor  threw  him  into  rap- 
tures. One  day,  Henry  sent  him  a  kind  message,  with  a  ring 
in  token  of  regard.  The  cardinal  was  on  horseback  when  he 
met  the  king's  messenger ;  he  immediately  alighted,  and  falling 
on  his  knees  in  the  mud,  kissed  the  ring  with  tears  in  his  eyes. 

This  was  hypocrisy  of  the  meanest  kind  ;  for  it  was  impossible 
he  could  have  loved  Henry  VIII. 

After  the  fall  of  Wolsey,  a  chance-remark  make  by  Dr. 
Thomas  Cramner,  Fellow  of  Jesus  College,  Cambridge,  gave 
the  king  his  cue  as  to  the  line  of  conduct  he  should  adopt. 

"  Oh  !"  cried  Henry  in  his  gross  joy,  "  that  man  has  taken 
the  right  sow  by  the  ear." 

It  was  deemed  expedient  to  get  opinions  on  the  divorce 
question  from  all  the  universities  in  Europe,  and  to  lay  these 
opinions  before  the  Pope.  This  was  done  ;  but  Clement,  like 
all  timid  men,  thinking  to  conciliate  the  nearest,  and,  as  he 
thought,  the  most  dangerous  of  his  enemies,  remained  inexo- 
rable, and  a  decision  was  given  against  Henry.  The  Reforma- 
tion immediately  followed,  and  the  new  ecclesiastical  authority 
in  England  was  more  obedient  to  Henry's  wishes. 

The  marriage  of  the  king  and  Ann  Boleyn  was  now  formally 
solemnized ;  and  the  woman  on  whose  account  the  whole  of 


ANNBOLEYN. 


Europe  had  been  embroiled  for  the  last  four  years,  ascended 
that  throne  destined  to  be  only  a  passage  to  a  premature  grave. 

Sir  Thomas  Eliot  had  been  sent  to  Rome  with  an  answer 
to  a  message  from  the  Pope  to  Henry,  and  on  his  departure 
Ann  Boleyn  had  given  him  a  number  of  valuable  diamonds  to  be 
employed  in  bribing  those  whose  aid  it  was  necessary  to  obtain. 
But  nothing  could  avert  the  definitive  rupture  ;  and  when  Eliot 
was  about  to  return  to  England,  Sixtus  V.,  then  only  a  monk, 
shrugged  up  his  shoulders,  and  lifting  his  eyes  to  Heaven, 
exclaimed, 

"  Great  God !  is  it  not  the  same  to  thee,  whether  Catherine 
of  Arragon,  or  Ann  Boleyn,  be  the  wife  of  Henry  VIII.  ?" 

Atfn  Boleyn  was  now  at  the  summit  of  her  wishes.  She  was 
at  length  Queen  of  England,  a  title  which  had  cost  her  too 
great  anxiety  of  mind  for  her  not  to  appreciate  it  far  beyond 
its  worth.  But  one  thing  embittered  the  joys  it  brought  her — 
this  was  the  idea  that  the  same  title  was  still  retained  by  the 
unhappy  Catherine.  She,  therefore,  resolved  to  work  her  will 
with  Henry,  and  deprive  her  late  rival  of  this  last  remnant  of 
the  honors  she  had  enjoyed,  without  reproach,  during  a  period 
of  more  than  twenty  years,  and  until  Ann's  beauty  had  estranged 
the  king's  affection.  Henry  could  not  resist  the  tears  and 
entreaties  of  his  new  queen,  whose  influence  over  him  was 
strengthened  by  the  birth  of  the  Princess  Elizabeth,  and  he 
sent  Lord  Montjoy  to  apprize  Catherine  that  she  was  in  future 
to  bear  no  other  title  than  that  of  Dowager  Princess  of  Wales. 

"  I  am  still  Queen  of  England,"  she  replied  with  dignity ; 
"  and  I  cannot  be  deprived  of  that  title  except  by  death,  or  by 
a  sentence  of  my  divorce  from  the  king,  pronounced  by  the 
Pope." 

The  thunders  of  the  Church  were  at  length  brought  into  play 


ANN      BOLEYN.  189 


against  Henry.  Paul  III.  had  succeeded  to  the  papal  throne  ; 
and  though,  whilst  cardinal,  he  had  always  favored  Henry's 
pretensions,  perceiving  now  that  a  final  breach  had  been  effected 
with  the  English  Church,  he  declared  that  the  King  of  England 
had  incurred  the  penalty  of  major  excommunication.  A  bull 
was,  therefore,  sent  forth  declaring  Henry's  throne  forfeited,  and 
the  issue  of  his  marriage  with  Ann  Boleyn  incapable  of  succeed- 
ing to  the  crown  of  England.  No  person,  under  pain  of  ex- 
communication, was  to  acknowledge  him  king ;  and  the  nobility 
of  England  were  enjoined,  under  the  same  penalty,  to  take  up 
arms  against  him  as  a  rebel  and  traitor  to  the  church  and  to 
Christ.  All  the  archbishops,  bishops,  and  curates  of  England, 
were  commanded  to  excommunicate  him  every  holiday  after  the 
Grospel  at  mass,  and  the  Emperor  Charles  V.  was  exhorted,  as 
protector  of  the  Church,  to  enforce  these  orders  with  his  armies. 
The  King  of  France,  as  the  most  Christian  king,  was  likewise 
enjoined  to  break  off  all  intercourse  with  Henry  VIII.  To 
make  the  insult  the  more  bitter,  the  Pope  ordered  all  the 
curates  in  the  neighborhood  of  Calais  to  read  the  bull  of  excom- 
munication in  their  several  churches,  and  proclaim  it  from  the 
pulpit. 

Henry  felt  but  little  concern  at  this  noisy  but  powerless 
attack.  Having  assembled  a  parliament,  an  act  was  passed  in- 
vesting him  with  all  the  powers  of  the  Pope  in  England.  But 
he  had  also  an  eye  to  the  temporalities  of  the  church  ;  and 
upon  the  strength  of  the  spiritual  authority  he  had  acquired,  he 
abolished  the  monasteries,  and  confiscated  the  ecclesiastical  pos- 
sessions. To  gratify  his  own  avarice  and  reward  his  favorites  at 
no  cost  to  himself,  he  robbed  the  clergy  of  the  property  be- 
stowed upon  them,  by  pious  founders,  for  their  support  and 
that  of  the  poor.  Though  three  centuries  have  since  elapsed, 


190  ANN     BOLEYN. 


the  effects  of  these  measures  are  still  felt  in  England.  The 
overgrown  revenues  of  some  of  the  bishoprics,  the  enormous 
wealth  of  the  deans  and  chapters,  the  inadequate  stipends  of 
the  inferior  clergy,  the  system  of  the  poor's  rates  so  inefficient 
and  yet  so  burthensome,  the  lay  impropriations  despoiling  both 
the  clergy  and  the  poor — nay,<the  very  unpopularity  of  tithes, 
which  are  principally  claimed  by  pluralists  and  seculars,  are  all 
fruits,  not  of  the  reformation  itself,  but  of  the  system  of  spoilia- 
tion  pursued  by  Henry  VIII.  the  moment  he  had  converted 
the  worship  of  Almighty  Grod  into  a  political  engine. 

Ann  Boleyn  has  been  accused  of  prompting  the  king  to 
these  measures  ;  but  I  apprehend  that  the  charge  proceeds 
solely  from  the  blind  vindictiveness  of  the  Catholic  party.  Ann 
was  thoughtless,  giddy,  and  fond  of  admiration  ;  but  her  mind 
was  as  incapable  of  preconceiving  as  of  pursuing  a  cold  and  pre- 
meditated system  of  vengeance.  Her  anger  was  easily  roused 
when  her  vanity  was  wounded  or  her  interests  opposed,  but  it 
evaporated  as  easily.  It  is  true,  that  she  felt  a  bitterness  of 
hostility  almost  foreign  to  her  nature  towards  Catherine  ;  but 
that  unhappy  princess  stood  in  her  way  and  endangered  the 
inheritance  of  her  daughter.  This  is  certainly  the  most  un- 
amiable  part  of  Ann's  character,  and  nothing  can  be  said  in  its 
justification. 

The  dignity  and  propriety  of  Catherine's  conduct,  joined  to 
her  misfortunes,  called  forth  the  pity  of  the  whole  Christian 
world.  Henry  again  ordered  her,  under  the  severest  penalties, 
to  forego  the  title  of  Queen  ;  and  the  persons  in  her  service 
were  commanded  to  call  her  the  Princess  of  Wales.  Catherine 
refused  the  services  of  those  of  her  officers  who  obeyed  this 
mandate,  and  for  a  few  days  she  was  wholly  without  attendants. 
So  many  persecutions,  and  a  deep  sense  of  the  injuries  she  had 


ANN     BOLEYN.  191 


received,  preyed  upon  her  health,  and  she  fell  dangerously  ill. 
The  king  gave  orders  that  the  greatest  care  should  be  taken  of 
her,  and  everything  done  that  could  contribute  to  her  .comfort ; 
as  if,  after  he  had  stricken  his  victim  to  death,  he  would  fain 
heal  the  wound. 

Ann  was  alarmed  at  this  seeming  return  of  the  king's  tender- 
ness for  Catherine.  The  clamors  raised  by  the  Catholic  party 
also  gave  her  strong  apprehensions  that  the  claims  of  her 
daughter  would  be  disallowed.  She  therefore  again  exerted 
her  influence  over  Henry,  and  the  Princess  Elizabeth  was  pro- 
claimed, by  sound  of  trumpet,  heir  to  the  throne  of  England, 
to  the  exclusion  of  her  sister  Mary. 

Catherine  died  on  the  6th  of  January,  1536,  at  Kimbolton, 
in  the  county  of  Huntingdon,  in  the  fiftieth  year  of  her  age. 
Before  she  expired,  she  wrote  a  very  affecting  letter  to  the 
king,  in  which  she  recommended  her  daughter  to  his  fatherly 
care.  The  last  sentence  of  this  letter  is  deserving  of  notice, 
and  could  have  been  written  only  by  a  woman  : — 

"  I  make  this  vow,  that  mine  eyes  desire  you  above  all  things." 

Henry's  stern  nature  was  overcome  by  these  simple  words, 
written  at  the  moment  of  death,  when  the  illusions  of  the  world 
disappear  before  the  awful  view  of  eternity.  He  wept  over  this 
letter,  penned  by  a  hand  already  cold  and  stiff — he  wept  at  this 
last  address  of  his  victim,  at  this  last  proof  of  fond  affection 
wlrch  be  had  so  basely  repaid. 

Ann  evinced  the  most  indecent  joy  on  receiving  the  news  of 
Catherine's  death.  When  the  messenger  arrived,  she  was 
washing  her  hands  in  a  splendid  vermeil  basin,  beside  which 
stood  a  ewer  of  the  same  metal.  She  immediately  took  both, 
and  thrusting  them  into  his  hands — 

"  Receive  this  present,"  said  she,  "  for  your  good  news." 


192  ANN     BOLKYN. 


The  same  day  her  parents  came  to  see  her  at  Whitehall 
She  ran  and  embraced  them  in  a  delirium  of  joy. 

"Rejoice!"  she  cried;  "now  is  your  daughter  truly  a 
Queen." 

A  few  days  after  this  event,  Ann  was  delivered  of  a  still-born 
son,  which  the  Catholic  party  attributed  to  the  effect  of  the  ex- 
communication. Henry's  passion  for  her  now  began  to  subside, 
and  he  soon  loved  her  no  more.  Inconstancy  was  as  much  a 
part  of  his  nature  as  cruelty.  The  possession  of  Ann,  pur- 
chased at  such  immense  sacrifices,  divested  of  the  excitement 
which,  during  six  years,  had  kept  it  alive,  had  no  longer  any 
charms  for  him.  If  the  austerity  of  Catherine's  temper  had 
estranged  him  from  her,  the  excessive  gayety  of  her  successor 
produced  the  same  effect.  Ann's  lively  sallies,  to  which  Henry 
had  once  listened  as  if  spell-bound,  now  threw  him  into  fits  of 
ill-humor  of  several  hours'  duration  ;  for  his  heart  had  so  many 
moving  folds  that  its  vulnerable  side  one  day  was  impenetrable 
the  next.  Courtiers  are  keen-sighted,  and  those  about  the  king 
soon  perceived  that  he  was  absorbed  by  a  new  passion.  Jane 
Seymour  had  replaced  Ann  Boleyn  in  Henry's  love,  just  as  Ann 
had  replaced  Catherine  of  Arragon.  But  to  indulge  in  this  new 
passion,  and  elevate  its  object  to  the  throne,  it  was  necessary 
to  convict  the  queen  of  a  crime  ;  and  there  was  no  want  of 
accusers  the  moment  the  tide  of  Ann's  favor  had  begun  to  ebb. 

The  queen  had  many  enemies  beside  the  Catholic  party. 
Her  extreme  gayety  and  powers  of  ridicule,  the  mere  effects  of 
exuberant  spirits  in  a  young  and  sprightly  woman,  had  drawn 
upon  her  much  greater  resentment  than  serious  insult  would 
have  done.  Thus,  the  moment  the  decline  of  Henry's  affec- 
tion was  perceived,  accusations  poured  in,  the  least  of  which 
was  sufficient  to  insure  Ann's  disgrace  and  death. 


ANN     BOLEYN.  193 


But  to  avoid  giving  umbrage  to  the  nation,  whose  discontent 
had  already  been  manifested  on  other  occasions,  an  offence  of 
more  than  usual  enormity  was  requisite.  Ann  had  a  brother, 
the  Viscount  of  Rocheford,  to  whom  she  was  tenderly  attached. 
The  Viscountess  of  Rocheford,  his  wife,  a  woman  of  the  most 
profligate  character,  was  the  first  to  instill  the  poison  of  jealousy 
into  the  king's  ear,  and  to  insinuate  calumnies  of  the  blackest 
dye,  which  also  implicated  her  husband.  Henry  Norris,  groom 
of  the  stole,  Weston  and  Brereton,  gentlemen  of  the  privy 
chamber,  and  Mark  Smeton,  a  musician  of  the  king's  band, 
were  faithfully  devoted  to  Ann,  and  had  won  her  friendship  and 
confidence.  They  were  also  included  in  the  plot,  as  accomplices 
of  her  alleged  profligacy.  She  had  herself  facilitated  the  plans 
of  her  accusers  by  her  general  thoughtlessness  and  levity  of 
demeanor,  as  well  as  by  some  silly  speeches. 

Ann  was  more  vain  than  proud  ;  and  her  vanity  was  applied 
principally  to  the  charms  of  her  person.  To  obtain  admiration, 
she  spared  neither  her  smiles  nor  her  powers  of  pleasing.  Her 
education  at  the  French  court  had  tainted  her  with  that  spirit 
of  gallantry,  more  in  conversation  than  in  actions,  which  distin- 
guished the  first  years  of  the  reign  of  Francis  I.  But  her  con- 
duct was  strictly  virtuous,  and  her  soul  pure  and  innocent.  In- 
ferences were,  however,  drawn  from  things  perfectly  harmless  in 
themselves,  but  certainly  unbecoming  in  a  young  female  ;  and 
these,  coupled  with  the  infamous  tales  of  her  sister-in-law,  had 
roused  all  the  malignant  feelings  of  Henry's  nature. 

On  the  1st  of  May,  1536,  there  was  a  tilting-match  at  Green- 
wich, and  the  queen  had  never  appeared  in  better  spirits. 
Henry  thought  that  she  looked  at  Rocheford  with  something 
more  than  brotherly  affection.  Norris,  who  had  just  been 
tilting,  having  approached  her,  she  greeted  him  with  a  smile, 


194  ANN      BOLEYN. 


and  dropped  her  handkerchief.  Though  this  was  probably  ac- 
cidental, Henry  attributed  it  to  an  improper  feeling  towards  the 
groom  of  the  stole,  and,  uttering  a  dreadful  oath,  immediately 
left  Greenwich.  When  his  departure  was  communicated  to 
Ann,  she  only  laughed  and  said, 

"  He  will  return." 

But  he  did  not  return,  and  a  few  hours  after,  those  accused 
of  being  her  accomplices  in  adultery  were  arrested  and  sent  to 
the  Tower,  while  she  was  confined  to  her  room.  She  now  saw 
her  impending  fate. 

"  I  am  lost !"  said  she,  in  tears,  to  her  mother  and  to  Miss 
Methley,  one  of  her  maids  of  honor  ;  "I  am  forever  lost." 

Next  morning  she  was  placed  in  a  litter  and  conveyed  to  the 
Tower,  where  she  was  closely  imprisoned,  and  not  allowed  to 
communicate  with  anybody,  even  in  writing.  Her  uncle's  wife, 
Lady  Boleyn,  was  appointed  to  sleep  in  the  same  room  with  her, 
hi  order  to  extort  admissions  from  her  which  might  be  turned 
to  her  disadvantage.  The  lady  hated  the  queen,  and  there- 
fore made  no  scruple  to  accept  so  odious  a  mission. 

Henry  was  always  in  a  hurry  to  consummate  a  crime  when  he 
had  once  conceived  it.  He  therefore  lost  not  an  instant  in  con- 
stituting a  tribunal  of  peers  for  the  trial  of  the  brother  and  sis- 
ter. The  Duke  of  Norfolk,  forgetful  of  the  ties  of  blood  between 
himself  and  Ann,  and  prompted  by  his  ambition,  became  her 
most  dangerous  enemy.  He  presided  at  this  tribunal  as  Lord 
High  Steward,  and  twenty-five  peers  were  appointed  to  sit  with 
him.  They  opened  their  court  on  the  15th  of  May,  and  the 
queen  having  appeared  before  them,  declared  that  she  was  inno- 
cent, and  throwing  herself  upon  her  knees,  appealed  to  God  for 
the  truth  of  her  statement.  She  confessed  certain  instances  of 
perhaps  unbecoming  levity,  but  the  sum  of  her  offences  would 


ANN     BOLEYN.  195 


not  have  tainted  the  reputation  of  a  young  girl.  She  defended 
herself  with  admirable  ability  and  address.  But  she  was  doomed 
beforehand,  and  she  and  her  brother  were  condemned  to  die. 
The  sentence  bore,  that  she  should  be  beheaded  or  burnt,  accord- 
ing to  the  king's  good  pleasure  ;  but  Henry  spared  her  the  pile. 

Ann's  benevolence  of  character  had  led  her  to  confer  obliga- 
tions on  all  around  her ;  but  when  the  wheel  of  fortune  turned, 
not  a  voice  was  raised  in  her  favor  except  that  of  Cranmer,  who 
remained  faithful  to  her,  but  unhappily  had  no  means  of  avert- 
ing her  fate. 

No  one  can  doubt  the  queen's  innocence  ;  and  if  her  conduct, 
during  the  few  fleeting  years  of  her  greatness,  was  sometimes 
marked  with  thoughtless  imprudence,  she  met  her  death  with 
noble  dignity  and  fortitude.  There  is  often  a  strength  of  hero- 
ism in  woman  quite  beyond  the  feeble  and  helpless  condition  of 
her  sex ;  and  this  was  displayed  by  Ann  to  an  extent  which  will 
always  combine  the  highest  admiration  with  the  pity  awakened 
by  her  mirfortunes.  A  short  time  before  her  trial,  she  wrote 
the  king  a  letter,  which,  says  a  celebrated  English  historian, 
"  contains  so  much  nature  and  even  elegance,  that  it  deserves 
to  be  transmitted  to  posterity."  I  therefore  give  it  a  place  here. 

"  SIR, — Your  Grace's  displeasure  and  my  imprisonment  are 
things  so  strange  unto  me,  as  what  to  write  or  what  to  excuse,  I 
am  altogether  ignorant.  Whereas  you  send  unto  me  (willing 
me  to  confess  a  truth  and  so  obtain  your  favor)  by  such  an  one 
whom  you  know  to  be  mine  ancient  professed  enemy,  I  no 
sooner  received  this  message  by  him,  than  I  rightly  conceived 
your  meaning  ;  and  if,  as  you  say,  confessing  a  truth  indeed  may 
procure  my  safety,  I  shall  with  all  willingness  and  duty  perform 
your  command. 


196  ANN     BOLEYN 


"  But  let  not  your  Grace  ever  imagine  that  your  poor  wife  will 
ever  be  brought  to  acknowledge  a  fault  where  not  so  much  as  a 
thought  thereof  proceeded.  And  to  speak  a  truth,  never  prince 
had  wife  more  loyal  in  all  duty  and  in  all  true  affection,  than 
you  have  ever  found  in  Ann  Boleyn,  with  which  name  and  place 
I  could  willingly  have  contented  myself,  if  God  and  your  Grace's 
pleasure  had  been  so  pleased.  Neither  did  I  at  any  time  so  far 
forget  myself  in  my  exaltation  or  received  queenship,  but  that  I 
always  looked  for  such  an  alteration  as  I  now  find ;  for  the 
ground  of  my  preferment  being  on  no  surer  foundation  than 
your  Grace's  fancy,  the  least  alteration,  I  knew,  was  fit  and  suf- 
ficient to  draw  that  fancy  to  some  other  subject.  You  have 
chosen  me,  from  a  low  estate,  to  be  your  queen  and  companion, 
far  beyond  my  desert  or  desire.  If  then  you  found  me  worthy 
of  such  honor,  good  your  Grace  let  not  any  light  fancy,  or  bad 
counsel  of  mine  enemies,  withdraw  your  princely  favor  from  me  ; 
neither  let  that  stain,  that  unworthy  stain  of  a  disloyal  heart 
towards  your  good  Grace,  ever  cast  so  foul  a  blot  on  your  most 
dutiful  wife,  and  the  infant-princess,  your  daughter.  Try  me, 
good  king,  but  let  me  have  a  lawful  trial,  and  let  not  my  sworn 
enemies  sit  as  my  accusers  and  jndges ;  yea,  let  me  receive  an 
open  trial,  for  my  truth  shall  fear  no  shame  ;  then  shall  you  see, 
either  mine  innocency  declared,  your  suspicion  and  conscience 
satisfied,  the  ignominy  and  slander  of  the  world  stopped,  or  my 
guilt  openly  declared :  So  that  whatsoever  God  or  you  may 
determine  of  me,  your  Grace  may  be  freed  from  an  open  cen- 
sure ;  and  mine  offence  being  so  lawfully  proved,  your  Grace 
is  at  liberty,  both  before  God  and  man,  not  only  to  execute 
worthy  punishment  on  me  as  an  unlawful  wife,  but  to  follow 
your  affection,  already  settled  on  that  party,  for  whose  sake  I 
am  now  as  I  am,  whose  name  I  could  some  good  while  since  have 


ANN     BOLEYN.  197 


pointed  unto — your  Grace  being  not  ignorant  of  my  suspicion 
therein. 

"  But  if  you  have  already  determined  of  me,  and  that  not 
only  my  death,  but  an  infamous  slander  must  bring  you  the  en- 
joying of  your  desired  happiness  ;  then  I  desire  of  God  that  he 
will  pardon  your  great  sin  therein,  and  likewise  mine  enemies, 
the  instruments  thereof ;  and  that  he  will  not  call  you  to  a  strict 
account  for  your  unprincely  and  cruel  usage  of  me,  at  his  general 
judgment-seat,  where  both  you  and  myself  must  shortly  appear, 
and  in  whose  judgment  I  doubt  not  (whatsoever  the  world  may 
think  of  me)  mine  innocence  shall  be  openly  known  and  suffi- 
ciently declared. 

"  My  last  and  only  request  shall  be,  that  myself  may  only 
bear  the  burthen  of  your  Grace's  displeasure,  and  that  it  may 
not  touch  the  innocent  souls  of  those  poor  gentlemen,  who  (as  I 
understand)  are  likewise  in  strait  imprisonment  for  my  sake. 
If  ever  I  have  found  favor  in  your  sight,  if  ever  the  name  of 
Ann  Boleyn  hath  been  pleasing  in  your  ears,  then  let  me  obtain 
this  request ;  and  I  will  so  leave  to  trouble  your  Grace  any 
further,  with  mine  earnest  prayers  to  the  Trinity  to  have  your 
Grace  in  his  good  keeping,  and  to  direct  you  in  all  your  actions. 
From  my  doleful  prison  in  the  Tower  this  6th  of  May. 

"  Your  most  loyal  and  ever  faithful  wife, 

"ANN  BOLEYN." 

This  letter  produced  no  other  effect  than  to  hasten  the  trial. 
It  is  said  that  the  decision  of  the  peers  was  at  first  in  favor  of 
the  queen  and  her  brother,  but  that  the  Duke  of  Norfolk  hav- 
ing compelled  them  to  reconsider  a  verdict  so  contrary  to  the 
king's  expectations,  both  were  condemned  to  death. 

Ann  with  resignation  prepared  to  meet  her  fate.     The  day 


198  ANN     BOLEYN. 


before  her  execution,  she  forced  the  wife  of  the  Lieutenant  of 
the  Tower  to  sit  in  the  chair  of  state,  and  bending  her  knee, 
entreated  this  lady,  in  the  name  of  God  to  go  to  the  Princess 
Mary  and  entreat  forgiveness  for  all  the  affronts  her  Highness 
had  received  from  her,  hoping  they  would  not  be  punished  in  the 
person  of  her  daughter  Elizabeth,  to  whom  she  trusted  Mary 
would  prove  a  good  sister. 

Next  morning  she  dressed  herself  with  royal  magnificence. 

"  I  must  be  bravely  attired,"  she  said,  "  to  appear  as  becomes 
the  queen  of  the  feast." 

She  sent  the  king  a  last  message  before  she  died,  not  to 
solicit  any  favor,  but  to  thank  him  for  the  care  he  took  of  her 
elevation. 

"  Tell  him,"  she  said,  "  that  he  made  me  a  marchioness, 
then  a  queen,  and  is  now  about  to  make  me  a  saint — for  I  die 
innocent." 

When  the  Lieutenant  of  the  Tower  came  to  inform  her  that  all 
was  ready,  she  received  him  not  only  with  firmness,  but  with 
gayety. 

"  The  executioner,"  she  observed  with  a  smile,  "  is  skillful, 
and  my  neck  is  slender."  And  she  measured  her  neck  with  her 
hands. 

She  walked  to  the  scaffold  with  a  firm  step.  Having  ascended 
it,  she  prayed  devoutly  for  the  king,  praised  him  highly,  and 
termed  him  "  a  gentle  and  most  merciful  prince."  But  these 
exaggerated  praises  can  be  attributed  only  to  her  fear  that  her 
daughter  Elizabeth  might  suffer,  on  her  account,  the  same  indig- 
nities that  Catherine  of  Arragon,  through  her  obstinacy,  had 
brought  upon  the  princess  Mary.  Ann  Boleyn  was  beheaded 
on  the  29th  of  May,  1536,  by  the  executioner  of  Calais,  who 
had  been  sent  for  as  the  most  expert  in  Henry's  dominions. 


ANN     BOLEYN.  199 


Her  body  was  carelessly  placed  into,  a  common  elm  chest,  and 
buried  in  the  Tower. 

Henry's  subsequent  conduct  is  a  complete  justification  of 
Ann  Boleyn.  The  very  day  after  her  execution,  he  married 
Jane  Seymour,  who  did  not  live  long  enough  to  be  sacrificed  to 
a  new  attachment ;  for  she  died,  little  more  than  two  years  after 
her  marriage,  in  giving  birth  to  Edward  VI. 

The  character  of  Ann  Boleyn  has  been  basely  calumniated 
by  party  historians,  especially  by  Sanderus,  or  Sanders,  "  who," 
says  Bishop  Burnet,  "  did  so  impudently  deliver  falsehoods,  that 
from  his  own  book  many  of  them  may  be  disproved."  Though 
never  calculated  to  become  a  great  queen,  Ann  Boleyn  had 
nevertheless  many  good  and  amiable  qualities,  which  more  than 
compensate  for  the  silly  vanity  and  thoughtlessness  of  a  young 
and  beautiful  woman,  conscious  of  her  personal  attractions,  and 
continually  beset  by  flatterers.  She  was  high-minded,  benevolent 
to  a  fault,  and  strictly  virtuous ;  and  though  her  history  is  re- 
markable only  from  the  influence  it  had  upon  the  affairs  of 
Europe  during  several  years,  and  from  its  having  led  to  a  re- 
formation of  religion  in  England,  yet  the  moment  her  young  and 
innocent  life  was  doomed  to  be  offered  up  a  sacrifice  to  the  brutal 
passions  of  Henry  VIH.,  she  displayed  the  fortitude  and  eleva- 
tion of  mind  which  preceded  her  death,  and  won  a  right  to  the 
admiration  of  posterity,  and  to  a  high  seat  in  that  temple  which 
the  celebrated  women  of  all  countries  have  raised  to  their  own 
fame. 


Jj    if  A  i)  e    6  m  Jj . 


&ABY  7AHS 


AMBITION  punished,  seldom  excites  pity  ;  but  can  a  tribute  of 
commiseration  be  refused  to  a  beautiful  woman,  only  seventeen 
years  of  age,  who  laid  her  head  upon  the  block  to  expiate  the 
ambition  of  another  ?  Such  was  the  fate  of  Lady  Jane  Gray  ! 
A  crown  had  no  attractions  for  her  —  she  had  no  desire  to  reign  ! 
It  seemed  as  if  this  unfortunate  and  lovely  young  creature  felt 
her  feet  slip  on  the  very  steps  of  that  throne  which  the  Duke 
of  Northumberland  forced  her  to  ascend.  A  warning  presenti- 
ment told  her  that  a  life  of  quiet  seclusion  was  the  only  means 
she  had  of  escaping  a  violent  death.  She  long  resisted  the 
fatal  counsel  of  her  father-in-law  ;  but  she  was  dragged  on  by 
her  evil  destiny. 

Lady  Jane  Gray,  born  in  1537,  was  the  granddaughter  of 
Mary  Tudor,  sister  of  Henry  VIII.  This  princess,  being  left  a 
widow  by  the  death  of  her  husband,  Louis  XII.,  King  of  France, 
and  having  no  children  by  this  marriage,  returned  to  England 
and  married  Brandon,  Duke  of  Suffolk,  whom  she  had  long 
loved,  and  who  was  Lady  Jane's  grandfather.  The  subject  of 
this  memoir,  when  she  was  scarcely  sixteen,  married  Lord 
Guildford  Dudley,  fourth  son  of  John  Dudley,  Duke  of  North- 
umberland. Lady  Jane  Gray  was  beyond  measure  lovely; 
her  features  were  beautifully  regular,  and  her  large  and  mild 
eyes  were  the  reflection  of  a  pure  and  energetic  soul,  though 
peaceful  and  unambitious.  She  had  a  strong  passion  for  study, 


204  LADY     JANE      GRAY. 

especially  that  of  abstruse  science.  Though  young,  she  had  ac- 
quired vast  learning,  and  was  deeply  read  in  the  ancients  ;  she 
was  very  familiar  with  Greek  and  extremely  partial  to  Plato. 
Living  at  one  of  her  country-seats,  she  divided  her  time  be- 
tween her  books  and  her  husband,  until  political  events  of  high 
importance  troubled  her  peaceful  life  and  destroyed  her  hap- 
piness. 

Edward  Seymour,  Duke  of  Somerset,  Protector  of  England, 
exercised  over  that  kingdom  a  despotic  sway  to  which  the  nobles 
would  no  longer  submit.  The  latter,  equally  disgusted  with 
the  pride  of  Thomas  Lord  Seymour,  the  Protector's  brother, 
applauded  the  Duke  of  Northumberland  when  he  succeeded  in 
successively  removing  these  two  favorites  from  the  king's  per- 
son ;  and  Northumberland  thought  himself  popular,  when  he 
was  only  loved  on  account  of  his  hatred  towards  the  Seymours. 
Edward  VI.,  a  weak  and  sickly  child,  who  could  ill  bear  the 
weight  of  the  crown  that  encircled  his  pallid  brow,  always  be- 
stowed his  favor  upon  those  near  his  person,  and  Northumber- 
land succeeded  Somerset.  But  the  new  favorite,  fearing,  and 
with  good  reason,  that  he  should  not  long  retain  this  station,  as 
the  king  might  die,  and  was  indeed  then  dying,  though  only 
sixteen  years  of  age,  employed,  with  considerable  address,  the 
prejudices  of  religion  to  gain  his  ends.  He  described  to  Edward, 
in  hideous  colors,  the  character  of  his  sister,  Mary,  the  Catholic  ; 
and  represented  in  an  equally  unfavorable  light,  Elizabeth, 
daughter  of  that  Ann  Boleyn  who  was  condemned  and  executed 
for  adultery.  Could  then  the  crown  of  England,  he  asked,  be 
placed  upon  a  dishonored  brow,  or  the  welfare  of  the  English 
nation  be  intrusted  to  an  intolerant  fanatic  ?  Northumberland 
was  a  man  of  ability  ;  he  shook  the  timid  conscience  of  Edward, 
who,  fearing  Mary's  violence,  and  prejudiced  against  Elizabeth, 


LADY     JANE     GRAY.  205 

changed  the  order  of  succession,  and  .designated  as  his  successor, 
Jane  Gray,  the  eldest  daughter  of  Henry  Gray. 

At  the  period  of  Edward's  death,  there  were  four  female 
claimants  to  the  crown  of  England.  Two  of  them  were  daugh- 
ters of  Henry  VIII., — Mary  the  Catholic,  born  of  a  repudiated 
wife — Elizabeth  the  Protestant,  born  of  a  wife  beheaded  as  an 
adulteress.  The  two  others,  descended  from  Henry  VII., 
were  Lady  Jane  Gray,  and  Mary  Stuart,  Queen  of  Scotland — 
the  one  a  Protestant,  like  Elizabeth,  and  claiming  by  the  last 
will  of  Edward  VI.  ;  the  other  a  Catholic,  like  Mary,  and 
having  not  a  very  clear  right,  nor  the  means  of  enforcing  it, 
even  if  it  were  established. 

Lady  Jane  Gray,  in  the  innocence  of  her  heart,  was  un- 
acquainted with  her  own  claims,  and  was,  besides,  unambitious 
to  change  her  lot.  But  an  ambitious  father-in-law  forced  her 
upon  a  throne,  to  reign  only  a  few  days,  and  then  die  by  the 
hand  of  the  public  executioner.  In  vain  did  the  lovely  young 
creature  entreat  her  father-in-law  to  allow  her  to  retain  her 
freedom.  The  obstinate  duke,  always  at  the  head  of  intrigues, 
determined  to  gain  his  point  with  her  whom  he  deemed  a 
child.  "  Shall  it  be  for  nothing,"  said  he,  "  that  I  have  caused 
the  daughters  of  two  queens  to  be  declared  illegitimate  in  order 
to  place  the  crown  upon  the  head  of  my  daughter-in-law  ?  No, 
indeed!" 

Northumberland,  not  trusting  solely  to  the  will  of  Edward 
VI.  to  get  Lady  Jane  Gray  acknowledged  queen  after  the 
king's  death,  was  anxious,  before  he  made  the  attempt,  to  have 
the  two  daughters  of  Henry  VIII.  in  his  power.  He,  there- 
fore, a  short  time  before  Edward's  death,  prevailed  on  the 
council  to  write  to  Mary  and  Elizabeth,  requesting  their  presence 
to  afford  assistance  and  consolation  to  a  dying  brother.  They 


206  LADY     JANE     GRAY. 

accordingly  set  out  for  London;  but  Edward  having  expired 
before  their  arrival,  Northumberland  concealed  his  death,  in 
order  that  the  princesses  might  continue  their  journey,  and  fall 
into  the  snare  he  had  laid  for  them.  Mary  had  already  reached 
Hoddesdon,  about  seventeen  miles  from  London,  when  the  Earl 
of  Arundel  sent  her  an  express  to  inform  her  of  her  brother's 
death,  and  warn  her  of  the  projects  of  Northumberland.  She 
immediately  retired  in  all  haste,  and  reached  KeHninghall  in 
Norfolk,  whence  she  proceeded  to  Framlingham  in  Suffolk. 
She  wrote  to  all  the  principal  nobility  and  gentry  in  the  king- 
dom, calling  upon  them  to  take  up  arms  in  defence  of  the 
crown  and  its  legitimate  heir ;  she  also  sent  to  the  council  to 
announce  that  she  was  aware  of  her  brother's  death,  and  com- 
manded them  to  take  the  necessary  steps  for  her  being  pro- 
claimed. Dissimulation  being  no  longer  of  any  use,  Northum- 
berland boldly  declared  his  plan,  and,  attended  by  several  of 
the  great  nobles  of  England,  proceeded  to  Zion  House,  where 
he  did  homage  to  Lady  Jane  Gray  as  Queen  of  England.  It 
was  then  only  that  this  lovely  and  unfortunate  young  woman 
was  made  acquainted  with  the  intentions  of  her  father-in-law. 
She  rejected  the  proffered  crown,  and  urged  the  priority  of 
right  possessed  by  the  daughters  of  Henry  VIII.  For  a  long 
time  she  persisted  in  her  refusal ;  and  her  resistance  was  at 
length  overcome,  more  by  the  persuasion  of  her  husband,  Lord 
Guildford  Dudley,  than  by  the  entreaties  of  her  father-in-law. 
She  was  immediately  conducted  to  the  Tower  of  London,  where 
it  was  customary  for  the  sovereigns  of  England  to  spend  the 
first  days  of  their  accession  to  the  throne  ;  and  she  went  thither 
rather  as  a  beautiful  victim  to  be  offered  up  in  sacrifice,  than  as 
the  new  sovereign  of  a  great  nation. 

In  vain  she  was  proclaimed  Queen  of  England ;  not  a  sign 


LADY     JANE     GRAY.  207 

of  rejoicing  was  heard,  and  the  people  maintained  a  sullen 
silence.  There  was  no  feeling  against  Lady  Jane  Gray ;  but 
the  unpopularity  of  the  Dudleys  was  excessive,  and  it  was  easily 
seen  that,  under  the  name  of  Jane,  they  would  be  the  real 
rulers  of  England.  This  made  the  nation  look  toward  Mary, 
and  the  promises  of  religious  toleration  which  she  held  out, 
induced  them  to  support  her  cause. 

Meanwhile  Mary  was  obtaining  the  submission  of  the  people 
of  Suffolk.  All  the  inhabitants  of  this  county  professed  the 
reformed  religion,  and  the  moment  she  pledged  herself  that 
they  should  freely  exercise  then*  faith,  they  attached  themselves 
to  her  cause.  The  most  powerful  of  the  nobility  flocked  to  her 
standard ,  and  Sir  Edward  Hastings,  who  had  received  a  com- 
mission from  the  council  to  levy  troops  in  the  county  of  Buck- 
ingham for  Lady  Jane  Gray,  brought  these  troops  to  Mary. 
A  fleet  also  which  Northumberland  had  sent  to  cruise  off  the 
coast  of  Suffolk,  entered  Yarmouth,  and  declared  for  the 
daughter  of  Henry  VIII.  Soon  after,  the  ministers  of  Jane's 
government,  who  considered  themselves  little  better  than  North- 
umberland's prisoners,  left  the  Tower  in  a  body,  and  with 
the  Mayor  and  Aldermen  of  London  proceeded  to  do  homage 
to  her  whom  they  deemed  their  legitimate  sovereign. 

Success  attended  Mary's  arms,  and  she  was  universally  ac- 
knowledged queen.  At  first  she  appeared  mild  and  clement, 
assuming  an  expression  of  benevolence,  and  talking  only  of  par- 
don. But  such  a  word  from  her  was  a  cruel  mockery.  If 
there  was  pardon,  there  must  have  been  injury;  and  it  was 
in  Mary's  nature  never  to  forget  an  offence.  This  seeming 
mildness  was  only  the  slumber  of  vengeance,  which  was  soon 
to  awake  and  throw  mourning  and  desolation  over  the  land. 
Northumberland  was  at  first  the  only  individual  she  seemed 


208  LADY     JANE     GRAY. 

desirous  of  sacrificing  to  her  resentment.  Lady  Jane  Gray  and 
her  husband  were  imprisoned  in  the  Tower,  and  the  Queen  of 
England  was  proclaimed  most  just  and  merciful,  because  she 
had  taken  only  a  single  life. 

In  a  very  short  time,  however,  cries  of  sedition  were  heard. 
The  people,  alarmed  at  having  a  religion  forced  upon  them 
in  which  they  had  no  belief,  showed  symptoms  of  disaffection. 
Mary  gave  no  heed  to  the  promises  she  had  solemnly  made 
whilst  struggling  for  her  rights.  She  reinstated  the  Catholic 
bishops,  and  brow-beat  the  inhabitants  of  Suffolk  when  they 
urged  her  pledge  to  them. 

Mary  was  alarmed  at  the  cries  of  sedition  uttered  by  the 
"people.  Lady  Jane  and  her  husband  were  brought  before  an 
iniquitous  council,  who  condemned  them  both  to  die ;  and  the 
Mayor  of  London  having  begged  that  a  public  example  might 
be  made,  obtained  that  Lord  Guildford  Dudley  should  be  exe- 
cuted in  public.  The  unfortunate  nobleman,  on  his  sentence 
being  communicated  to  him,  requested  an  interview  with  his 
wife.  She  refused  to  see  him,  but  wrote  him  a  letter  to  the 
following  purport : — 

"  Do  not  let  us  meet,  Guildford — we  must  see  each  other  no 
more  until  we  are  united  in  a  better  world.  We  must  forget 
our  joys  so  sweet,  Guildford,  our  loves  so  tender  and  so  happy. 
You  must  now  devote  yourself  to  none  but  serious  thoughts. 
No  more  love,  no  more  happiness  here  upon  earth ! — we  must 
now  think  of  nothing  but  death !  Remember,  my  Guildford, 
that  the  people  are  waiting  for  you,  to  see  how  a  man  can  die. 
Show  no  weakness  as  you  approach  the  scaffold  ;  your  fortitude 
would  be  overcome,  perhaps,  were  you  to  see  me.  You  could 
not  quit  your  poor  Jane  without  tears;  and  tears  and  weak- 
ness must  be  left  to  us  women.  Adieu,  my  Guildford,  adieu ! 


LADY     JANE     GRAY.  209 

Be  a  man — be  firm  at  the  last  hour — let  me  be  proud  of 
you." 

Guildford  died  like  a  hero,  and  Jane  was  proud  of  him. 
Ah  !  it  was  not  from  weakness  that  this  noble-minded  creature 
refused  the  crown ;  she  was  happy  with  her  books,  her  affection, 
and  her  beloved  husband,  under  her  arbors  of  flowers.  It  was 
the  absence  of  happiness  in  a  crown,  not  its  weight  that  alarmed 
her. 

She  saw  her  husband  leave  the  Tower  and  proceed  to  the 
place  of  execution.  She  prayed  a  long  time  for  him  ;  her  own 
turn  then  came,  and  she  prepared  for  death.  Mary,  desirous 
of  increasing  her  sufferings,  pretended  to  convert  her,  and 
offered  to  pardon  her  if  she  would  abjure  the  reformed  religion. 
But,  with  a  sweet  smile  of  sadness,  she  refused.  For,  at  that 
time,  what  was  life  to  her  ? — nothing  but  a  vast  solitude,  through 
which  she  would  have  to  wander  alone  and  deserted.  She 
preferred  death ! 

For  three  days  she  was  assailed  by  the  importunities  of 
Catholic  priests,  who  thought  they  had  shaken  her  faith.  Jane 
made  them  no  reply,  but  continued  her  prayers.  Having 
written  a  last  letter  of  adieu*  to  her  sister,  the  Countess  of 
Pembroke,  she  took  off  her  mourning,  dressed  herself  in  white, 
had  her  long  and  beautiful  hair  cut  off  by  her  female  attendants, 
and  walked  boldy  to  the  place  of  execution.  When,  however, 
she  saw  the  sparkling  of  the  steel  axe,  she  turned  pale.  She 
knelt,  prayed  again,  lifted  up  her  eyes  and  looked  at  the 
heavens ! — then  placing  her  head  upon  the  block,  she  received 
the  stroke  that  conferred  upon  her  a  crown  of  which  no  human 
passions  could  deprive  her — the  crown  of  martyrdom  ! 

*  This  letter  was  written  in  Greek.  A  good  translation  of  it  into  French  is  to  be 
found  in  Larrey's  History  of  England. 


210  LADY     JANE     GRAY. 

This  was  the  third  time  in  London,  within  a  period  of  twenty 
years,  that  the  blood  of  a  queen  had  stained  the  scaffold.  The 
reign  of  Elizabeth  was  to  present  a  fourth  act  of  the  same 
tragedy. 

Catherine  Gray,  Countess  of  Pembroke,  was  more  to  be  pitied 
than  her  sister  Jane  ;  for,  after  all,  what  is  death  to  one  who 
has  lost  everything  that  makes  life  valuable  ?  But  Catherine, 
separated  from  a  world  in  which  the  man  she  loved  still  lived, 
must  often  have  prayed  to  God  to  give  her  the  sleep  of  the 
grave. 

Catherine  Gray  had  married  the  Earl  of  Pembroke  ;  but  their 
union  was  so  unhappy  that  both  demanded  a  separation,  and 
their  marriage  was  dissolved  by  a  judicial  act.  She  then  be- 
came the  wife  of  the  Earl  of  Hertford,  who  set  out  for  France, 
leaving  her  pregnant.  Catherine  Gray  being  of  the  royal  blood 
of  Tudor,  her  marriage  without  the  consent  of  her  sovereign 
was  imputed  to  her  as  a  crime  ;  and  on  ascending  the  throne, 
Mary,  as  happy  in  having  to  inflict  punishment  as  another  would 
have  been  to  show  clemency,  condemned  her  to  imprisonment 
for  life.  The  Earl  of  Hertford,  on  his  return  from  France,  was 
also  sentenced  to  imprisonment,  and  the  Archbishop  of  Canter- 
bury declared  the  marriage  null  and  void.  Nevertheless,  the 
Earl  protested  against  the  sentence  of  the  Archbishop,  as  well 
as  against  that  of  his  other  judges.  He  loved  Catherine  with 
the  tenderest  affection  ;  and  still  looking  upon  her  as  his  wife, 
bribed  the  keeper  of  the  Tower,  and  obtained  access  to  her 
prison.  Catherine  became  a  mother  a  second  time  ;  and  Mary 
persecuted  the  Earl  of  Hertford  with  all  the  vindictive  hatred 
of  a  queen  whose  authority  is  despised,  and  of  a  woman  already 
past  the  age  of  inspiring  love,  who  cannot  forgive  young  people 
for  their  superiority  in  this  respect.  The  Earl's  accusation  con- 


LADY     JANE     GRAY.  211 

sisted  of  three  counts  : — First,  of  having  seduced  a  princess  of 
the  royal  blood ;  secondly,  of  having  violated  a  state  prison  ; 
and  thirdly,  of  having  approached  a  woman  from  whom  the  law 
had  separated  him.  He  was  condemned  to  a  fine  of  five  thou- 
sand pounds  sterling  for  each  offence.  He  paid  the  fifteen 
thousand  pounds,  and,  after  a  long  confinement,  consented  to 
sign  a  voluntary  act  of  separation  from  Catherine  ;  but  not  till 
after  a  long  struggle,  and  a  resistance  which  bore  ample  testi- 
mony of  the  strength  of  his  attachment. 

The  unfortunate  Catherine  Gray  died  in  prison,  in  1562, 
after  a  long  and  painful  captivity.  Like  her  sister  Jane,  she 
was  learned  and  fond  of  study.  Both  were  young  and  lovely, 
and  the  fate  of  both  showed  that  royal  birth  is  no  security  against 
misfortune.  Tears  are  shed  in  the  palaces  of  kings  as  well  as 
the  peasant's  hovel ;  and  arms  loaded  with  jewels  often  bear  the 
chains  of  captivity.  Poison  is  sometimes  drank  in  a  cup  of  gold, 
and  the  crowned  head  severed  by  the  executioner's  axe  ! 


Jl  e  o  *)  o  ir  3    d  '«£  $  f  e. 


&BQHQ&&  B'S&f  Sf 

OF  all  the  heaven-bestowed  privileges  of  the  poet,  the  highest, 
the  dearest,  the  most  enviable,  is  the  power  of  immortalizing  the 
object  of  his  love  ;  of  dividing  with  her  his  wreath  of  glory,  and 
repaying  the  inspiration  caught  from  her  eyes  with  a  crown  of 
everlasting  fame.  It  is  not  enough,  that  in  his  imagination  he 
has  deified  her — that  he  has  consecrated  his  faculties  to  her 
honor — that  he  has  burned  his  heart  in  incense  upon  the  altar 
of  her  perfections  ;  the  divinity,  thus  decked  out  in  richest  and 
loveliest  hues,  he  places  on  high,  and  calls  upon  all  ages  and  all 
nations  to  bow  down  before  her,  and  all  ages  and  all  nations 
obey  !  worshiping  the  beauty  thus  enshrined  in  imperishable 
verse,  when  others,  not  less  fair,  have  gone  down  unsung,  "  to 
dust  and  endless  darkness."  How  many  women,  who  would 
otherwise  have  stolen  through  the  shade  of  domestic  life,  their 
charms,  virtues,  and  affections  buried  with  them,  have  become 
objects  of  eternal  interest  and  admiration,  because  their  memory 
is  linked  with  the  brightest  monuments  of  human  genius. 

Leonora  D'  Este,  a  princess  of  the  proudest  house  in  Europe, 
might  have  wedded  an  emperor  and  have  been  forgotten.  The 
idea,  true  or  false,  that  she  it  was  who  frenzied  the  brain  and 
broke  the  heart  of  Tasso,  has  glorified  her  to  future  ages— has 
given  her  a  fame  something  like  that  of  the  Greek  of  old,  who 
bequeathed  his  name  to  posterity  by  firing  the  grandest  temple 
in  the  universe. 


r 


216  LEONORA    D'ESTE. 

No  poet,  perhaps,  ever  owed  so  much  to  female  influence  as 
Tasso,  or  wrote  so  much  under  the  intoxicating  inspiration  of 
love  and  beauty.  The  high  tone  of  sentiment,  the  tenderness 
and  the  delicacy  which  pervade  all  his  poems,  which  prevail  even 
in  his  most  voluptuous  descriptions,  may  be  traced  to  the  adora- 
tion he  cherished  for  Leonora. 

When  Tasso  was  first  introduced  to  Leonora,  in  her  brother's 
court  at  Ferrara,  in  1565,  she  was  in  her  thirtieth  year — still 
eminently  lovely — in  that  soft,  artless,  unobtrusive  style  of 
beauty,  which  is  charming  in  itself,  and  in  a  princess  irresisti- 
ble, from  its  contrast  with  the  loftiness  of  her  station  and  the 
trappings  of  her  rank.  Her  complexion  was  extremely  fair ; 
her  features  small  and  regular  ;  and  the  form  of  her  head  pe- 
culiarly graceful.  Her  eyes  were  blue,  and  her  exquisitely 
beautiful  mouth,  Tasso  styles  "  a  crimson  shell" — 

Purpurea  conca,  in  cui  si  nutre 
Candor  di  perle  elette  e  pellegrine. 

HI  health,  and  her  early  acquaintance  with  the  sorrows  of  her 
unfortunate  mother,*  had  given  to  her  countenance  a  languid 
and  pensive  cast,  and  destroyed  all  the  natural  bloom  of  her 
complexion  ;  but  "Paleur  qui  marque  une  ame  tendre,  a  bien  son 
prix  :"  so  Tasso  thought ;  and  this  pallor  which  "  vanquishes 
the  rose,  and  makes  the  dawn  ashamed  of  her  blushes,"  he  has 
frequently  and  beautifully  celebrated. 

When  Tasso  first  visited  Ferrara  he  was  just  one-and-twenty, 
with  all  the  advantages  which  a  fine  countenance,  a  majestic 
figure,  noble  birth,  and  exceeding  talents  could  bestow.  He 
was  already  distinguished  as  the  author  of  the  Rinaldo,  his 

*  Renee  of  France,  the  daughter  of  Louis  XII.    She  was  closely  imprisoned  during 
twelve  year?,  on  suspicion  of  favoring  the  early  reformers. 


LEONORA    D'ESTE. 


earliest  poem,  in  which  he  had  celebrated  (as  if  prophetically) 
the  Princess  D'Este — and  chiefly  Leonora.  Tasso,  from  his 
boyish  years,  had  been  a  sworn  servant  of  beauty.  Refined, 
even  to  fastidiousness,  in  his  intercourse  with  women,  he  had 
formed,  in  his  own  poetical  mind,  the  most  exalted  idea  of 
what  a  female  ought  to  be,  and,  unfortunately,  she  who  first 
realized  all  his  dreams  of  perfection  was  a  princess — "  there 
seated  where  he  durst  not  soar." 

Although  Leonora  was  his  senior  by  several  years,  disparity 
of  age  is  certainly  no  argument  against  the  passion  she  inspired. 
For  a  young  man,  at  his  first  entrance  into  life,  to  fall  in  love 
ambitiously — with  a  woman,  for  instance,  who  is  older  than 
himself,  or  with  one  who  is,  or  ought  to  be,  unattainable — is  a 
common  occurrence.  Leonora  was  not  unworthy  of  her  illus- 
trious conquest.  She  was  of  studious  and  retired  habits — sel- 
dom joining  in  the  amusements  of  her  brother's  Court,  then  the 
gayest  and  most  magnificent  in  Italy.  Her  mother,  Renee  of 
France,  had  early  instilled  into  her  mind  a  love  of  literature, 
and  especially  of  poetry.  She  was  passionately  fond  of  music, 
and  sang  admirably ;  and,  to  a  sweet-toned  voice,  added  a  gift, 
which,  unless  thus  accompanied,  loses  half  its  value  and  almost 
all  its  charm.  She  spoke  well ;  and  her  eloquence  was  so  per- 
suasive, that  we  are  told  she  had  power  to  move  her  brother 
Alphonso,  when  none  else  could.  Tasso  says  most  poetically, 

"  E  1'  aura  del  parlar  cortese  e  saggio, 
Fra  le  rose  spirar,  s'udia  sovente ;" 

— meaning — for  to  translate  literally  is  scarcely  possible — that 
"  eloquence  played  round  her  lips  like  the  zephyr  breathing 
over  roses." 

With  what  emotions  must  a  young  and  ardent  poet  have 


.18 


LEONORA    D'ESTE. 


listened  to  his  own  praises  from  a  beautiful  mouth,  thus  sweetly 
gifted !  He  says,  "  My  heart  was  touched  through  my  ears  ; 
her  gentle  wisdom  penetrated  deeper  than  her  beauty  could 
reach." 

To  be  summoned  daily  into  the  presence  of  a  princess  thus 
beautiful  and  amiable — to  read  aloud  his  verses  to  her,  to  hear 
his  own  praises  from  her  lips,  to  bask  in  her  approving  smiles, 
to  associate  with  her  in  her  retirement,  to  behold  her  in  all 
the  graceful  simplicity  of  her  familiar  life — was  a  dangerous 
situation  for  Tasso,  and  surely  not  less  so  for  Leonora  herself. 
That  she  was  aware  of  his  admiration  and  perfectly  understood 
his  sentiments,  and  that  a  mysterious  intelligence  existed  be- 
tween them,  consistent  with  the  utmost  reverence  on  his  part, 
and  the  most  perfect  delicacy  and  dignity  on  hers,  is  apparent 
from  the  meaning  and  tendency  of  innumerable  passages  scat- 
tered through  his  minor  poems — too  significant  to  be  mistaken. 
Without  multiplying  quotations  which  would  extend  this  sketch 
from  pages  into  volumes,  it  is  sufficient  that  we  may  trace 
through  Tasso 's  verses  the  little  incidents  which  varied  this 
romantic  intercourse.  The  frequent  indisposition  of  Leonora, 
and  her  absence  when  she  went  to  visit  her  brother,  the  Cardinal 
d'Este,  at  Tivoli,  form  the  subjects  of  several  beautiful  little 
poems.  He  relates,  in  a  beautiful  little  madrigal,  that,  standing 
alone  with  her  in  a  balcony,  he  chanced,  perhaps  in  the  eager- 
ness of  conversation,  to  extend  his  arm  on  hers.  He  asks 
pardon  for  the  freedom,  and  she  replies  with  sweetness,  "  You 
offended  not  by  placing  your  arm  there,  but  by  withdrawing  it." 
This  little  speech  in  a  coquette  would  have  been  mns  conse- 
quence. From  such  a  woman  as  Leonora  it  spoke  volumes,  and 
her  lover  felt  it  so.  But  Leonora  knew,  as  well  as  her  lover, 
that  a  princess  "  was  no  love-mate  for  a  bard."  She  knew  far 


LEONORA    B'ESTE.  219 


better  than  her  lover,  until  he  too  had  been  taught  by  wretched 
experience,  the  haughty  and  implacable  temper  of  her  brother 
Alphonso,  who  never  was  known  to  brook  an  injury  or  forgive 
an  offender.  She  must  have  remembered  the  twelve  years' 
imprisonment,  and  the  narrow  escape  from  death,  of  her  un- 
fortunate mother,  for  a  less  cause.  She  was  of  a  timid  and 
reserved  nature,  increased  by  the  extreme  delicacy  of  her  con- 
stitution. Her  hand  had  frequently  been  sought  by  princes 
and  nobles,  whom  she  had  uniformly  rejected  at  the  risk  of  dis- 
pleasing her  brother,  and  the  eyes  of  a  jealous  court  were  upon 
her.  Tasso,  on  the  other  hand,  was  imprudent,  hot-headed, 
fearless,  ardently  attached.  For  both  their  sakes,  it  was  neces- 
sary for  Leonora  to  be  guarded  and  reserved,  unless  she  would 
have  made  herself  the  fable  of  all  Italy.  And  in  what  glowing 
verse  has  Tasso  described  all  the  delicious  pain  of  such  a 
situation !  now  proud  of  his  fetters — now  execrating  them  in 
despair. 

Then  came  a  cloud,  but  whether  of  temper  or  jealousy,  we 
know  not ;  and  Tasso,  withdrawing  himself  from  the  object  of 
devotion,  accompanied  Lucrezia  d'Este,  then  Duchess  of  Urbino, 
to  her  villa  of  Castel  Durante,  where  he  remained  for  some 
time,  partaking  in  all  the  amusements  of  her  gay  court,  without 
once  seeing  Leonora.  He  then  wrote  to  her,  and  the  letter, 
fortunately,  has  been  preserved  entire.  Though  guarded  in  ex- 
pression, it  is  throughout  in  the  tone  of  a  lover  piqued,  and  yet 
conscious  that  he  has  himself  offended ;  and  seeking,  with  a 
sort  of  proud  humility,  the  reconciliation  on  which  his  happi- 
ness depends. 

In  the  meanwhile,  there  was  a  report  that  Leonora  was  about 
to  be  united  to  a  foreign  prince.  Her  hand  had  been  demanded 
of  her  brother  with  the  usual  formalities,  and  the  anguish  and 


220  LEONORA    D'ESTE. 

jealous  pain  which  her  lover  suffered  at  this  period,  is  finely 
expressed  in  the  Canzone, 

"  Amor  tu  vedi,  e  non  bai  duolo  o  sdegno,"  &c. 
and  in  the  sonnet, 

"  Io  sparso,  ed  altri  miet^  !"  &c. 

This  dreaded  marriage  never  took  place ;  and  Tasso,  relieved 
from  his  fears  and  restored  to  the  confidence  of  Leonora,  was 
again  comparatively  blessed. 

******** 

About  two  years  after  the  completion  of  the  "  Jerusalem 
Delivered,"  while  all  Europe  rung  with  the  poet's  fame,  Tasso 
fled  from  the  court  of  Ferrara  in  a  fit  of  distraction.  His 
frenzy  was  caused  partly  by  religious  horrors  and  scruples  ; 
partly  by  the  petty  but  accumulated  injuries  which  malignity 
and  tyranny  had  heaped  upon  him  ;  partly  by  a  long-indulged 
and  hopeless  passion.  ,He  fled,  to  hide  himself  and  his  sorrows 
in  the  arms  of  his  sister  Cornelia.  The  brother  and  sister  had 
not  met  since  their  childish  years  ;  and  Tasso,  wild  with  misery, 
forlorn  and  penniless,  knew  not  what  reception  he  was  to  meet 
with.  When  arrived  within  a  league  of  his  birth-place,  Sor- 
rento, near  Naples,  he  changed  clothes  with  a  shepherd,  and  in 
this  disguise  appeared  before  his  sister,  as  one  sent  with  tidings 
of  her  brother's  misfortunes.  The  recital,  we  may  believe,  was 
not  coldly  given.  Cornelia  was  so  violently  agitated  by  the  elo- 
quence of  the  feigned  messenger,  that  she  fainted  away,  and 
Tasso  was  obliged  to  hasten  the  denouement  by  discovering 
himself.  In  the  same  moment  he  was  clasped  in  her  affec- 
tionate arms,  and  bathed  with  her  tears. 

And  how  was  it  with  her,  whose  life  was  a  weary,  a  per- 


LEONORA    D'ESTE.  221 

petual  sacrifice  to  her  exalted  position  ?  Through  her  the 
world  had  opened  upon  him  with  a  diviner  beauty  ;  she  was  the 
source  of  the  high  imaginations,  the  glorious  fancies,  the  heaven- 
ward aspirations,  which  raised  him  above  the  herd  of  vulgar 
men  ;  yet,  while  for  glory  she  gave  a  heart,  it  was  forever 
denied  to  her  to  make  her  lover  happy.  While,  through  love  for 
her  he  suffered  ignominy,  and  wrong,  and  madness,  was  it  not 
hers,  in  silence  and  in  secret,  to  mourn  over  the  hopeless  bitter- 
ness of  that  love,  and  of  her  own  undying  affection  ?  Was  he 
not  her  thought,  her  dream,  her  supplication  ? 

Tasso  resided  for  three  years  with  his  sister,  the  object  of 
her  unwearied  and  tender  attention.  And  now,  recalled,  it  is 
said,  by  the  letters  of  Leonora,  the  poet  returned  to  Ferrara. 
Still,  hate  pursued  him — and  he  was  taken,  and  imprisoned  as  a 
lunatic  at  St.  Anne's.  They  show  travelers  the  cell  in  which 
he  was  confined.  Over  the  entrance-gallery  leading  to  it,  is 
written  up  in  large  letters,  "  Ingresso  alia  Prigione  di  Tor- 
quato  Tasso,"  as  if  to  blazon,  in  the  eye  of  the  stranger,  what 
is  at  once  the  renown  and  disgrace  of  that  fallen  city.  The 
cell  itself  is  small,  dark,  and  low.  The  abhorred  grate  is  a 
semicircular  window,  strongly  cross-barred  with  iron,  which 
looks  into  a  court-yard,  so  built  up  that  the  noon-day  sun 
scarcely  reaches  it. 

A  cruel,  a  most  unjust  imputation  rests  on  the  memory  of 
Leonora.  She  is  accused  of  cold-heartedness  in  suffering  Tasso 
to  remain  so  long  imprisoned,  without  interceding  in  his  favor, 
or  even  vouchsafing  a  reply  to  his  affecting  supplications  for 
release,  and  for  her  mediation  in  his  behalf.  It  was  from  this 
cell  that  Tasso  addressed  that  affecting  Canzone  to  Leonora, 
and  her  sister  Lucrezia,  which  begins,  "  Figlie  di  Renata" — 
"  Daughters  of  Renee  !"  Thus,  in  the  very  commencement, 


222  LEONORA    D'ESTE. 

by  this  tender  and  delicate  apostrophe,  bespeaking  their  com- 
passion, by  awakening  the  remembrance  of  their  mother,  like 
him  so  long  a  wretched  prisoner. 

Although  there  exists,  we  suppose,  no  written  proof  that  Leo- 
nora pleaded  the  cause  of  Tasso,  or  sought  to  mitigate  his  suf- 
ferings ;  neither  is  there  any  proof  of  the  .  contrary.  If  then, 
we  do  not  find  her  publicly  appearing  as  his  benefactress,  and 
using  her  influence  over  her  brother  in  his  behalf,  is  it  not  a  pre- 
sumption that  she  was  implicated  in  his  punishment  ?  We  know 
little,  or  rather  nothing  of  the  private  intrigues  of  Alphonso's 
palace  ;  we  have  no  "  memories  secretes  "  of  that  day — no  dia- 
ries kept  by  prying  courtiers,  to  enlighten  us  on  what  passed  in 
the  recesses  of  the  royal  apartments.  No  woman  ever  loses  all 
interest  in  a  lover,  even  though  she  have  ceased  to  regard  him 
as  such,  unless  he  has  destroyed  that  interest  through  unkind- 
ness,  or  brutality  towards  herself;  and  Leonora,  who  appears 
on  every  other  occasion  so  blameless,  so  tender-hearted,  so 
beneficent,  would  have  been  incapable  of  selfishness,  or  cruelty, 
or  even  of  indifference,  to  a  lover  like  Tasso.  What  comfort 
or  kindness  she  could  have  granted,  must,  under  the  circum- 
stances, have  been  bestowed  with  infinite  precaution  ;  and,  from 
gratitude  and  discretion,  carefully  concealed.  We  know  that 
after  the  first  year  of  his  confinement,  Tasso  was  removed  to  a 
less  gloomy  prison  ;  and  we  know  that  Leonora  died  a  few  weeks 
afterwards ;  but  what  share  she  might  have  had  in  procuring 
this  mitigation  of  his  suffering,  we  do  not  know,  nor  how  far 
the  fate  of  Tasso  might  have  affected  her  so  as  to  hasten  her 
own  death. 

After  the  removal  of  Tasso  to  this  larger  cell,  he  made  a  col- 
lection of  his  smaller  poems  lately  written,  and  dedicated  them 
to  the  two  Princesses.  But  Leonora  was  no  longer  in  a  state  to 


LEONORA    D'ESTE.  223 

be  charmed  by  the  verses,  or  flattered  or  touched  by  the  admir- 
ing devotion  of  her  lover — her  poet — her  faithful  servant :  she 
was  dying.  A  slow  and  cureless  disease  preyed  on  her  delicate 
frame,  and  she  expired  in  the  second  year  of  Tasso's  imprison- 
ment. When  the  news  of  her  danger  was  brought  to  him,  he 
requested  his  friend  Pignarola  to  kiss  her  hand  in  his  name,  and 
to  ask  her  whether  there  was  anything  which,  in  his  sad  state, 
he  could  do  for  her  ease  or  pleasure  ?  We  do  not  know  how 
this  tender  message  was  received  or  answered ;  but  it  was  too 
late.  Leonora  died  in  February,  1581,  after  lingering  from  the 
November  previous. 

Thus  perished,  of  a  premature  decay,  the  woman  who  had 
been  for  seventeen  years  the  idol  of  a  poet's  imagination — the 
worship  of  a  poet's  heart ;  she  who  was  not  unworthy  of  being 
enshrined  in  the  rich  tracery-work  of  sweet  thoughts  and  bright 
fancies  she  had  herself  suggested.  The  love  of  Tasso  for  the 
Princess  Leonora  might  have  appeared,  in  his  own  time,  some- 
thing like  the  "  desire  of  the  moth  for  the  star ;"  but  what  is  it 
now  1 — what  was  it  then  in  the  eyes  of  her  whom  he  adored  ? 
How  far  was  it  permitted,  encouraged,  and  repaid  in  secret  ? 
This  we  cannot  know  ;  and  perhaps  had  we  lived  in  the  time — 
in  the  very  Court,  and  looked  daily  into  her  own  soft  eyes,  prac- 
ticed to  conceal — we  had  been  no  wiser. 

When  Leonora  died,  all  the  poets  of  Ferrara  pressed  forward 
with  the  usual  tribute  of  elegy  and  eulogium ;  but  the  voice  of 
Tasso  was  not  heard  among  the  rest.  He  alone  flung  no  garland 
on  the  bier  of  her  whose  living  brow  he  had  wreathed  with  the 
brightest  flowers  of  song.  This  is  adduced  by  Serassi  as  a  proof 
that  he  had  never  loved  her.  Ginguine  himself  can  only  account 
for  it,  by  the  presumption  that  he  was  piqued  by  that  coldness 
and  neglect,  which,  we  have  seen,  was  merely  suppositions. 


224  LEONORA    D'ESTE. 

Strange  reasoning  !  as  if  Tasso,  while  his  heart  bled  over  his  loss, 
in  his  solitary  cell,  could  have  deigned  to  join  this  crowd  of 
courtly  mourners  ! — as  if,  under  such  circumstances,  in  such  a 
moment,  the  greatness  of  his  grief  could  have  burst  forth  in 
any  terms  that  must  not  have  exposed  him  to  fresh  rigors,  and 
the  fame,  at  least  the  discretion  of  her  he  had  loved,  to  sus- 
picion. No :  nothing  remained  to  him  but  silence — and  he  was 
silent. 


EMPRESS    OF    RUSSIA 

ON  the  morning  of  the  20th  of  August,  1702,  the  Kussian  can- 
non began  to  batter  in  breach  of  the  old  ramparts  of  Marienburg. 
Sherrnetoff  commanded  the  besieging  army.  He  had  been  sent 
by  Peter  the  Great  to  avenge  the  humiliations  inflicted  upon  the 
Russians,  during  the  preceding  year,  at  Narva,  and  in  Poland ; 
and  about  a  month  before  the  period  at  which  this  narrative 
commences,  he  had  defeated  the  Swedish  army  under  the  com- 
mand of  Slippenbach.  Marienburg  surrendered  at  discretion 
in  a  few  hours,  and  the  Russians,  exasperated  at  the  store-houses 
and  magazines  having  been  set  on  fire,  put  the  Swedish  garrison 
to  the  sword,  and  made  the  inhabitants  prisoners — a  lot  much 
worse  in  those  days  than  death  ;  for  it  was  a  condition  of 
slavery.  Among  the  captives,  all  of  whom  were  casting  a  linger- 
ing look  at  the  homes  from  which  they  were  now  driven,  was  a 
Lutheran  minister,  attended  by  three  young  girls.  One  of 
these  was  strikingly  handsome.  She  had  just  been  discovered 
by  the  Russian  soldiers  concealed  in  an  oven,  in  which  her  fright 
had  led  her  to  seek  refuge.  The  family  was  brought  before 
General  Bauer,  Sheremetoff's  lieutenant,  who  was  surprised  at 
the  beauty  of  the  eldest  girl. 

"  Thy  name  ?"  said  he,  in  a  harsh  voice  to  the  minister. 

"  Gluck." 

"  Thy  religion :" 

"Lutheran." 


228  CATHERINE     ALEXIEWNA. 

"  Why  did  thy  daughter  hide  herself  ?  Thinkest  thou  that 
we  refuse  our  protection  to  the  weak  and  innocent  ?" 

"  The  young  girl  of  whom  you  speak,"  the  trembling  minis- 
ter replied,  "  is  not  a  member  of  my  family.  I  love  her  as  my 
child  ;  but  she  is  a  stranger  to  my  blood." 

"  Oh  !  oh  !"  muttered  the  general,  with  an  expressive  look. 
"  Who  is  she  then  ?" 

"  The  daughter  of  poor  peasants,  who  dwelt  in  the  neighbor- 
hood of  Derpt,  in  Livonia.  I  took  charge  of  her  when  her 
mother  died,  and  have  taught  her  the  little  I  know.  Her  name 
is  Martha  Alfendey." 

"  'Tis  well !  You  may  retire.  As  for  you,"  said  the  gene- 
ral, addressing  the  young  girl,  "remain  here." 

Instead  of  obeying  this  command,  she  clung  to  the  arm  of  her 
protector. 

"  General,"  said  the  minister,  "  Martha  was  married  this 
morning  ;  the  ceremony  had  just  been  performed  when  the  firing 
began." 

Bauer  laughed,  and  repeated  his  order.  Resistance  was  im- 
possible. The  pastor  withdrew,  and  the  poor  girl  remained 
with  her  future  master ;  for  she  was  now  a  slave,  and  the  slave 
too  of  a  man  who  in  a  few  years  was  to  become  her  subject. 

This  young  female,  as  the  reader  may  have  already  anticipated, 
was  Catherine — a  name  she  afterwards  assumed,  together  with 
that  of  Alexiewna,  when  she  embraced  the  tenets  of  the  Greek 
Church.  In  the  present  narrative,  I  shall  give  her  no  other. 

Catherine  was  eminently  beautiful ;  and  there  was  an  extreme 
fascination  in  her  look  and  smile.  After  a  short  period  of  ser- 
vice, Bauer  thought  he  might  advance  his  own  interests  by 
making  a  present  of  his  fair  slave  to  Sheremetoff.  He  accordingly 
dressed  her  after  the  Russian  fashion,  and  presented  her  to  the 


CATHERINE     ALEXIEWNA.  229 

marshal,  with  whom  she  remained  some  time.  But  Menzicoff, 
then  all  powerful  with  the  Czar,  having  seen  her  by  chance, 
offered  to  purchase  her  ;  and  Sheremetoff,  whether  from  indiffer- 
ence, or  because  he  was  desirous  of  making  a  merit  of  his  com- 
pliance, sent  her  as  a  free  offering  to  the  prince.  Thus,  in  less 
than  two  years,  Catherine  became  the  property  of  three  different 
masters. 

Menzicoff,  one  day,  had  to  entertain  the  Czar.  Peter  loved 
to  give  such  marks  of  his  royal  favor ;  that  cost  him  nothing, 
and,  in  a  country  like  Kussia,  were  highly  prized.  Seated  at  a 
table  loaded  with  a  profusion  of  gold  plate,  sparkling  crystal, 
and  the  finest  linen  of  Holland  and  Saxony,  trimmed  with  Brus- 
sels lace,  the  Czar  was  in  that  joyous  mood  to  which  he  some- 
times yielded  when  the  thorns  of  his  diadem  tore  his  brow  or 
the  weight  of  his  sceptre  tired  his  arm.  He  wore  on  that  day  a 
coat  of  very  coarse  cloth,  cut  after  his  own  fashion  ;  for  he  affected 
a  simplicity  of  attire  very  much  out  of  keeping  with  the  oriental 
magnificence  he  was  fond  of  displaying.  His  mirth  was  always 
boisterous  ;  and  in  the  midst  of  a  loud  peal  of  laughter  he  sud- 
denly stopped,  replaced  upon  the  table  the  chased  goblet  he 
held  in  his  hand,  and  followed  with  his  eyes  a  young,  beautiful 
and  elegantly-dressed  female,  who  had  just  poured  wine  into  his 
cup,  smiling  with  respectful  modesty  as  she  performed  the  office. 
Peter  thought  he  never  beheld  so  fascinating  a  creature. 

"  Who  is  that  woman  r"  said  he  to  the  favorite. 

"  My  slave,  dread  lord,"  replied  the  trembling  prince. 

"  Thy  slave !"  cried  Peter,  in  a  voice  of  thunder ;  then  in  a 
mild  tone,  almost  in  a  whisper,  he  added,  "  I  will  purchase  thy 
slave.  What  is  her  price  ?" 

"  I  shall  consider  myself  most  fortunate,"  Menzicoff  replied, 
"  if  your  majesty  will  vouchsafe  to  accept  her." 


230  CATHERINE     ALEXIEWNA. 

The  same  day,  Catherine. was  taken  to  a  house  in  a  remote 
part  of  Moscow.  Menzicoff  was  in  hopes  that  the  Czar  would 
take  but  little  notice  of  his  new  acquisition,  and  that  his  slave 
would  ultimately  be  sent  back  to  him ;  but  the  fair  captive  had 
caught  a  glimpse  of  her  future  greatness,  and  soon  brought  into 
play  that  energy  of  genius  which  ultimately  placed  the  imperial 
crown  upon  her  head.  The  powers  of  her  mind  and  her  ex- 
traordinary talents  became  known  throughout  Russia,  long 
before  she  appeared  as  the  savior,  not  only  of  the  empire,  but 
of  the  honor  of  Peter's  throne.  At  first  the  Czar  visited  her 
only  occasionally ;  soon,  however,  not  a  day  passed  without  his 
seeing  her ;  and  ultimately  he  took  his  ministers  to  her  house, 
and  transacted  all  the  business  of  the  state  in  her  presence, 
frequently  consulting  her  and  taking  her  advice  upon  the  most 
knotty  difficulties.  Her  cheerfulness,  her  mildness  of  temper, 
and  especially  her  energy  of  mind,  so  congenial  with  his  own, 
filled  up  the  void  left  in  his  heart  by  former  disappointments. 
His  first  wife,  Eudocia  Lapoukin,  had  proved  faithless,  and  he 
had  repudiated  her.  He  afterwards  wished  to  wed  the  beautiful 
Anne  Moens,  who  refused  the  proffered  honor,  because  she  still 
considered  him  the  husband  of  another.  In  his  intercourse 
with  Catherine,  he  therefore  yielded  to  a  deep  and  overwhelm- 
ing passion,  which  seemed  likely  to  compensate  for  former  suf- 
ferings. It  was  not  long  before  he  contracted  a  secret  marriage 
with  his  lovely  slave,  and  iu  the  enjoyment  of  her  affection  his 
heart  recovered  its  tone,  and  he  was  happy. 

In  this  almost  unknown  retreat,  Catherine  bore  him  two 
daughters — Anna,  born  in  1708,  and  Elizabeth,  born  in  1709. 
From  this  time  the  power  of  the  fair  captive  of  Marienburg  was 
acknowledged  throughout  the  empire,  and  she  found  herself 
strong  enough  to  show  Russia  that  she  was  indeed  its  sovereign. 


CATHERINE     ALEXIEWNA.  231 

She  was  aware  that  the  Czarowitz  Alexis,  Peter's  son  by  Eudocia, 
hated  her ;  yet  she  never  attempted  to  widen  the  breach  be- 
tween him  and  the  Czar.  She  also  knew  that  Eudocia  was 
intriguing  against  her,  but  she  never  thought  of  revenge ;  for 
she  had  a  soul  worthy  of  her  high  destiny — a  soul  truly  great, 
and  standing  out  in  such  prominent  relief  as  to  throw  many  of 
her  errors  into  the  shade. 

Her  power  over  the  Czar  was  greatly  strengthened  by  her 
having  become  necessary  to  his  existence.  From  his  infancy, 
Peter  had  been  subject  to  convulsions,  which  often  endangered 
his  life  ;  this  complaint  was  attributed  to  the  effects  of  poison 
administered  by  an  ambitious  sister.  During  these  attacks,  his 
sufferings  were  intense  ;  and  before  and  after  they  came  on,  he 
was  seized  with  mental  uneasiness  and  throbbing  of  the  heart, 
which  threw  him  into  a  state  of  the  most  gloomy  despondency. 
Catherine  found  means,  by  her  attentions,  to  assuage  his  suf- 
ferings ;  she  had  also  magic  words  at  command  to  soothe  his 
mind.  Whenever,  therefore,  he  found  one  of  his  attacks  coming 
on,  he  sought  the  society  of  the  sorceress,  whose  voice  and  look 
charmed  away  his  pain  ;  and  he  ever  found  her  kind  and  affec- 
tionate, ready  to  minister  to  his  comfort,  and  pour  balm  upon 
his  anguish. 

Hitherto  Catherine  had  appeared  to  Peter  only  as  a  fond 
and  fascinating  woman ;  but  the  time  was  near  at  hand  when 
he  found  that  she  had  a  soul  of  the  most  dauntless  heroism. 

The  battle  of  Pultawa  had  been  fought,  and  Charles  XII. 
defeated,  abandoned,  and  almost  unattended,  was  in  rapid  flight 
toward  Turkey.  The  Swedish  monarch  had  left  Saxony  at 
the  head  of  forty-five  thousand  men,  and  was  afterwards  joined 
by  the  Livonian  army  under  Lewenhaupt,  amounting  to  sixteen 
thousand  more.  But  the  Russians  were  superior  in  numbers. 


232  CATHERINE     ALEXIEWNA. 

The  slaughter  on  this  memorable  day  was  dreadful.  The 
Swedes  seemed  panic-struck  ;  they  lost  nine  thousand  killed,  and 
sixteen  thousand  prisoners.  Lewenhaupt,  with  fourteen  thousand 
inen,  laid  down  his  arms  to  ten  thousand  Russians. 

Peter  followed  up  his  victory  ;  but,  like  a  great  and  generous 
monarch,  wrote  to  Charles  XII.,  entreating  him  not  to  go  to 
Turkey  in  search  of  assistance  from  the  enemies  of  Christianity, 
but  to  trust  him,  and  he  would  prove  a  good  brother.  This 
letter,  it  is  said,  concluding  with  an  offer  of  peace,  was  dictated 
by  Catherine.  But  it  was  dispatched  too  late — Charles  had 
already  crossed  the  Dnieper. 

The  Czar  soon  seized  upon  the  advantages  which  this  success 
of  his  arms  placed  at  his  disposal.  He  concluded  a  treaty  with 
Prussia,  laid  siege  to  Riga,  restored  the  kingdom  of  Poland  to 
the  Elector  of  Saxony,  and  ratified  the  treaty  with  Denmark. 
Having  at  length  completed  his  measure  for  the  further 
humiliation  of  Sweden,  he  returned  to  Moscow,  to  make  pre- 
parations for- the  triumphal  entry  of  his  army  into  that  capital. 

The  year  1710  was  opened  with  this  solemnity.  It  was 
truly  a  noble  sight,  and  calculated  to  give  the  Russian  people 
an  exalted  idea  of  their  strength  as  a  nation.  The  greatest 
magnificence  was  displayed  in  the  ceremony.  Seven  splendid 
triumphal  arches  were  erected  for  the  vanquished  to  pass  under ; 
and  as  an  act  of  presence,  and  to  prove  the  defeat  not  only  of  a 
rival  monarch  but  of  a  whole  nation,  the  Swedish  artillery  and 
standards,  and  the  litter  of  the  fugitive  king,  appeared  in  the 
procession.  The  Swedish  ministers  and  troops  who  had  been 
made  prisoners,  advanced  on  foot,  followed  by  the  most  favored 
troops  of  Peter's  army,  on  horseback,  the  generals  each  accord- 
ing to  his  rank,  and  the  Czar  in  his  place  as  major-general. 
A  deputation  from  the  different  bodies  of  the  state  was  stationed 


CATHERINE     ALEXIEWNA.  233 

at  each  triumphal  arch,  and  at  the  last-  came  a  troop  of  young 
noblemen,  the  sons  of  the  principal  boyards,  clad  in  Roman 
dresses,  who  presented  crowns  of  laurel  to  the  emperor. 

At  this  period  war  was  extending  its  miseries  throughout 
Europe.  Denmark  was  preparing  to  invade  Sweden;  whilst 
France,  Holland,  Italy,  Portugal,  Germany,  and  England,  had 
drawn  the  sword  to  contend  for  the  inheritance  of  Charles  II. 
of  Spain.  The  whole  of  the  North  was  in  arms  against  Charles 
XII.  Nothing  now  remained,  but  a  war  with  Turkey,  to  involve 
every  province  in  Europe  in  strife  and  bloodshed;  and  this 
soon  occurred. 

Peter's  glory  was  at  its  zenith  when  Achmet  III.  commenced 
hostilities  against  him.  Charles  flattered  himself  that  the  Sultan 
had  decided  upon  this  course  to  avenge  the  defeat  of  the 
Swedes ;  but  Achmet  was  actuated  solely  by  his  own  in- 
terest. 

The  Czar  lost  no  time  in  taking  his  measures.  Having  dis- 
patched Appraxin  to  Asoph  to  take  the  command  of  the  fleet  and 
land  forces,  he  constituted  a  senate  of  regency,  made  an  appeal 
to  the  loyalty  of  the  young  nobles  of  Russia,  and  sent  forward 
the  four  regiments  of  his  guards.  When  all  was  ready,  he  issued 
a  proclamation,  calling  upon  the  Russian  nation  to  acknowledge 
a  new  Czarian.  This  was  no  other  than  Catherine,  the  orphan, 
brought  up  by  the  Lutheran  minister,  and  the  captive  of  Marien- 
burg.  He  now  declared  his  marriage,  and  designated  her  as 
his  consort.  She  set  out  with  the  Czar  on  his  expedition  against 
the  Turks;  and,  being  constantly  near  his  person,  redoubled 
her  soothing  attentions  on  the  march,  during  which  Peter  had 
several  severe  returns  of  his  complaint.  He  was  soon  in  the 
presence  of  Baltagi-Mohammed,  having  advanced  by  the  fron- 
tiers of  Poland,  and  crossed  the  Dnieper  in  order  to  disengage 


234  CATHERINE     ALEXIEWNA. 

Sheremetoff.  On  reaching  the  river  he  entreated  Catherine 
not  to  follow  him  to  the  opposite  bank. 

"  Our  two  destinies  form  but  one  life,"  she  replied.  "  Where 
you  are,  there  must  I  be  also." 

Ever-pleasing,  good-humored,  and  affable,  she  became  the 
delight  and  pride  of  the  soldiers.  She  seldom  used  her  car- 
riage, but  was  generally  on  horseback  by  Peter's  side  ;  and  she 
endured  the  same  privations  as  the  lowest  officer  in  the  army. 
Though  frequently  overcome  with  fatigue,  her  attentions  and 
kindness  to  the  sick  officers  and  men  were  unremitting.  She 
sent  them  assistance,  paid  them  visits,  and  then  returned  to  the 
Czar,  dissipating  by  her  smiles  the  clouds  that  gathered  on  his 
brow  as  his  danger  became  greater  and  more  imminent.  In 
this  way  they  reached  the  banks  of  the  Pruth. 

The  situation  of  the  Russian  army  at  length  became  so 
critical  as  to  call  forth  all  the  resources  of  Peter's  skill  and 
energy.  His  communications  with  General  Renne  were  cut  off, 
and  his  provisions  exhausted.  Prodigious  swarms  of  locusts 
alighted  and  destroyed  all  traces  of  vegetation  ;  and  water  was 
so  scarce  that  none  could  be  obtained,  except  by  drawing  it 
from  the  river  under  a  heavy  fire  from  the  Turkish  artillery. 

Peter,  in  despair  at  finding  himself  in  a  situation  even  worse 
perhaps  than  that  to  which  he  had  reduced  Charles  XII.  at 
Pultawa,  determined  upon  a  retreat.  But  Baltagi-Mohammed 
having  come  up  with  him,  Peter's  regiment  of  the  Preobasin- 
ski  guards  sustained  the  attack  of  the.  whole  Turkish  army, 
which  lasted  for  several  hours.  Night  came  on,  and  the 
Russians,  overcome  with  fatigue,  were  unable  to  continue  their 
retreat. 

Two  Swedish  generals  were  employed  in  the  grand  vizier's 
army — Count  Poniatowski,  father  of  him  who  was  afterwards 


CATHERINE     ALEXIEWNA.  235 

king  of  Poland,  and  the  Count  of  Sparre.  The  former  advised 
that  Peter's  supplies  should  be  cut  off,.and  the  Russian  army  be 
thus  compelled  to  surrender  or  die  of  starvation  ;  the  latter 
urged  an  immediate  attack  upon  the  Czar's  discouraged  troops, 
who  might  easily  be  cut  to  pieces. 

On  the  following  day,  the  Russians  were  surrounded  on  all 
sides.  The  hostile  armies  were  engaged  several  hours,  during 
which  eight  thousand  Russians  withstood  the  attack  of  a  hundred 
and  fifty  thousand  Turks,  killing  seven  thousand  of  them,  and 
ultimately  forcing  them  back.  The  armies  then  intrenched 
themselves  for  the  night.  The  Russians  suffered  dreadfully  for 
want  of  water  ;  the  men  who  were  sent  to  fetch  it,  fell  dead 
upon  the  banks  of  the  river  under  the  grape-shot  of  the  Turkish 
artillery.  Meantime,  Peter  was  striding  with  hurried  steps 
within  the  space  which  his  soldiers  had  intrenched  with  all  the 
wagons  they  could  muster.  Discouragement  was  but  too 
evident  upon  every  brow,  and  the  Czar  clearly  perceived  that 
the  noble  army  of  which  he  was  so  proud,  and  upon  which  his 
fortunes  now  depended,  had  no  other  prospect  than  starvation  or 
slavery. 

He  returned  to  his  tent  in  an  agony  of  grief  difficult  to 
describe,  and  gave  orders  that  no  one  should  be  allowed  to 
enter.  His  reason  was  all  but  gone  ;  for  he  was  at  this  moment 
under  one  of  those  attacks  to  which  he  was  subject  whenever 
his  mind  was  greatly  excited.  Seated  at  a  table  upon  which  he 
had  laid  his  sword,  he  seemed  overcome  by  the  weight  of  his 
misfortunes.  On  a  sudden  he  started — he  had  heard  his  name 
called  ;  a  gentle  hand  pressed  his — Catherine  stood  by  his 
side. 

"  I  had  given  orders  that  nobody  should  enter,"  said  Peter 
angrily  ;  "  why  have  you  presumed  to  disobey  them  ?" 


236  CATHERINE     ALEXIEWNA. 

"  Such  orders  cannot  surely  extend  to  me,"  replied  Catherine 
with  mildness.  "  Can  you  deprive  the  woman,  who  ever  since 
the  opening  of  the  campaign  has  shared  all  your  dangers,  of  the 
right  to  talk  to  you  about  your  army,  composed  of  your  subjects, 
of  which  she  is  one  ?" 

The  words  uttered  with  solemnity,  and  in  that  sotte  voce 
which  woman  alone  can  assume,  made  a  strong  impression  upon 
the  Czar.  He  threw  his  arms  round  Catherine,  and  placing  his 
head  upon  her  bosom,  moaned  piteously. 

"  Why,  Catherine,  hast  thou  come  hither  to  see  me  die  ? — for 
to  die  I  am  resolved ;  I  will  never  submit  to  be  dragged  along 
in  triumph  by  those  unbelievers." 

"  Thou  hast  no  right  to  die,  Peter,"  said  Catherine,  in  the 
same  mild  and  solemn  tone,  though  her  heart  throbbed  vio- 
lently— and  "she  had  great  difficulty  to  restrain  her  tears  ;  "  thy 
life  is  not  thine  own.  Wouldst  thou,  moreover,  leave  the  road 
to  Moscow  open,  so  that  Mahommed  may  proceed  thither  and 
take  thy  daughters  to  grace  his  master's  harem  r" 

"  Great  God  !"  exclaimed  the  Czar,  starting  back. 

"  Or  wouldst  thou  let  him  go  to  Petersburg,  thy  well-beloved 
city,  and  himself  execute  that  which  he  requires  of  thee  ?" 

"No!"  said  Peter,  seizing  his  sword;  "he  shall  not  go 
thither — I  am  still  alive  to  prevent  it." 

"  Thou  art  beside  thyself,  Peter,"  Catherine  continued ; 
"  thou  knowest  not  what  thou  dost.  I  am  but  a  woman — a 
simple  ignorant  woman  ;  but  I  love  thee,  not  only  because  thou 
hast  raised  me  from  the  lowly  state  of  a  peasant  and  a  slave  to 
the  dignity  of  thy  consort,  but  for  thine  own  glory.  I  also  love 
the  Russian  people,  and  am  resolved  to  save  you  both.  Hear 
me  !" 

Subjugated  by  Catherine's  manner  and  the  greatness  of  soul 


CATHERINE     ALEXIEWNA.  237 

which  beamed  from  her  countenance,  the  Czar  gazed  upon  her 
in  astonishment.  Already  calmed  by  her  words  of  mingled 
tenderness  and  energy,  he  placed  her  by  his  side  and  prepared  to 
listen  to  her.  She  immediately  began,  and  with  great  precision 
and  clearness  developed  the  plan  she  had  formed  ever  since  the 
critical  situation  of  the  army  had  led  her  to  suppose  that  every 
ordinary  resource  would  fail.  Peter  assented  to  all  she  pro- 
posed, and  Catherine  lost  not  an  instant  in  carrying  her  project 
into  execution.  She  collected  together  the  few  jewels  she  had 
brought  with  her  on  an  expedition  free  from  all  unnecessary 
splendor  of  attire,  and  selected  an  officer,  upon  whose  talents 
and  presence  of  mind  she  could  depend,  to  carry  them  as  a 
present  to  the  grand-vizier  ;  she  likewise  added,  for  the  Kiaja, 
all  the  ready  money  she  could  collect.  These  preparations 
being  made,  she  sent  for  Sheremetoff,  and  made  him  write  a 
letter  to  Baltagi-Mohammed.  Norberg,  chaplain  to  Charles 
XII.,  has  stated,  in  his  history  of  that  monarch,  that  the  letter 
was  written  by  the  Czar  himself,  and  couched  in  the  most  abject 
terms.  This  is  untrue  ;  it  was  written  by  Sheremetoff,  in  his 
own  name,  and  not  only  with  becoming  dignity,  but  each  ex- 
pression was  so  measured  as  to  prevent  the  grand-vizier  from 
forming  a  suspicion  of  the  extreme  state  to  which  the  Kussian 
army  was  reduced.  Sheremetoff  wrote  under  the  dictation  of 
Catherine,  herself  unable  to  write,  but  whose  instinctive  genius 
— the  real  fountain  of  science — rendered  her  as  superior  in 
counsel,  as  she  was  in  energy  of  mind. 

For  some  hours  Mohammed  made  no  reply,  and  the  Turkish 
artillery  continued  to  scatter  its  missiles  along  the  banks  of  the 
river.  As  the  sun  sank  towards  the  horizon,  the  anxiety  in  the 
Russian  camp  became  intense.  Catherine,  ever  active,  was 
almost  at  the  same  time  soothing  and  encouraging  Peter  and 


238  CATHERINE     ALEXIEWNA. 

scattering  her  magic  words  of  heroism  among  the  officers  and 
men  of  his  army.  She  seemed  every  where  at  once,  and  all 
were  animated  by  her  presence.  She  pointed  out  to  the  troops 
their  sovereign,  as  he  passed  along,  sorrowing  at  their  sorrow, 
and  unhappy  at  their  misfortunes  ;  she  urged  them  to  assuage 
his  grief,  by  showing  him  that  their  courage  remained  unshaken. 
Her  words  were  electrical :  the  ministers  and  generals  soon  sur- 
rounded Peter,  and,  in  the  name  of  the  whole  army,  demanded 
to  cross  the  Pruth  immediately.  Ten  of  the  oldest  generals 
held  a  council  of  war,  at  which  Catherine  presided,  and  the  fol- 
lowing resolution,  proposed  by  her,  was  signed  and  presented  to 
the  Czar  : — 

"  Should  the  enemy  refuse  the  conditions  proposed  by  Mar- 
shal Sheremetoff,  and  dare  to  call  upon  us  to  lay  down  our 
arms,  it  is  the  unanimous  opinion  of  the  army,  its  generals,  and 
the  imperial  ministers  of  state,  that  we  should  cut  our  way 
through  them." 

In  consequence  of  this  resolution,  the  baggage  was  surrounded 
by  an  intrenchment,  and  the  Russians  had  already  advanced 
within  a  hundred  yards  of  the  Turkish  army,  when  the  grand- 
vizier  published  a  suspension  of  arms.  Vice-Chancellor  Schaf- 
firoff  was  immediately  dispatched  to  the  Turkish  camp,  nego- 
tiations were  begun,  and  the  honor  of  the  Russian  arms  remained 
without  a  blemish.  A  treaty  of  peace  was  soon  after  concluded 
at  Falksen,  a  village  on  the  banks  of  the  Pruth.  A  disagree- 
ment about  a  clause  of  the  treaty  led  to  an  answer  from  Peter 
which  may  efface  many  blood-stained  lines  in  his  history. 

Prince  Cantemir,  a  subject  of  the  Ottoman  Porte,  was  under 
the  protection  of  Russia,  and  Mohammed  insisted  upon  his  being 
given  up.  In  reply  to  Schaffiroff,  Peter  wrote  as  follows  : — 

"  I  would  rather  give  up  to  the  Turks  all  the  country  as  far 


CATHERINE     ALEXIEWNA.  239 

as  Zurzka,  because  I  should  have  hopes  of  being  able  to  recover 
it ;  but  the  loss  of  my  faith  would  be  irretrievable.  We  sove- 
reigns have  nothing  we  can  properly  call  our  own,  except  our 
honor,  and  were  I  to  forfeit  that,  I  should  cease  to  be  a  king." 

Cantemir  was  therefore  not  given  up. 

Just  as  the  treaty  was  ready  for  signature,  Charles  XII. 
arrived  at  the  Turkish  camp,  and  vented  bitter  reproaches  on 
Mohammed,  who  treated  him  with  the  most  cutting  indifference. 

"  If  I  had  taken  the  Czar  prisoner,"  said  the  viceroy  of  Stam- 
boul,  with  a  smile  of  bitter  irony,  "  who  would  there  be  to  govern 
in  his  stead  ?  It  is  not  right  that  every  sovereign  should  quit 
his  dominions." 

Charles,  forgetful  of  the  dignity  not  only  of  the  monarch  but 
of  the  man,  tore  the  vizier's  robe  with  his  spurs,  which  Moham- 
med, in  his  superiority  over  the  royal  adventurer,  feigned  not  to 
perceive.  He  left  it  to  Providence  to  inflict  its  will  upon 
Charles's  brilliant  and  tumultuous  life,  and  to  complete  that  les- 
son of  adversity  which  had  begun  at  Pultawa,  where  the  Swedish 
king  was  vanquished  by  Menzicoff,  originally  a  pastry-cook's 
boy,  and  continued  on  the  banks  of  the  Pruth,  where  Baltagi- 
Mohammed,  once  a  slave  and  a  hewer  of  wood,  decided  on  the 
fate  of  three  empires. 

Subsequently,  the  revenge  of  the  man  of  the  seraglio  was 
more  characteristic.  He  withdrew  the  pension  which  the  Porte 
allowed  its  royal  guest,  and  gave  him  orders,  couched  in  the 
form  of  advice,  to  quit  the  Turkish  empire.  This  led  to  the 
well-known  affair  at  Bender. 

Charles  XII.  has  accused  the  grand-vizier  of  incapacity.  This 
is  an  error  grafted  on  the  prejudice  of  hatred ;  for  Mahommed 
was  a  man  of  high  talents,  and  to  every  reflecting  mind  the 
sound  policy  of  his  conduct  on  this  occasion  is  evident.  All  the 


240  CATHERINE     ALEXIEWNA. 

writers  of  the  Swedish  party  accuse  him  of  having  received  a 
bribe  to  betray  his  trust.  This  is  equally  absurd.  The  jewels 
sent  him  by  Catherine  were  a  mere  compliance  with  an  eastern 
custom,  which  requires  that  a  present  should  always  precede  the 
demand  of  an  audience,  and  were  not  of  sufficient  value  to  tempt 
him  to  become  a  traitor,  even  were  he  so  disposed.  The  charge 
is  as  devoid  of  foundation  as  that,  in  1805,  General  Mack 
received  a  large  sum  for  his  surrender  at  Ulm.  A  minister  of 
state  or  an  eminent  general  has  the  eyes  of  the  whole  world  fixed 
upon  him,  and  if  he  descend  to  such  an  act  of  baseness,  they  are 
sure  to  be  discovered.  When,  therefore,  no  positive  evidence 
is  adduced,  such  imputations  ought  to  be  disregarded.  In  the 
present  case,  the  charge  is  impossible  ;  for  Peter  had  no  means 
of  raising  a  sum  adequate  to  tempt  the  cupidity  of  the  grand- 
vizier. 

Peace  being  concluded,  the  Czar  retired  by  Jassy,  and  pre- 
pared for  the  execution  of  the  treaty.  Peter's  life  was  now  less 
agitated,  but  his  complaint  returned  so  frequently,  and  with  such 
aggravated  symptoms,  that  he  began  to  think  his  life  was  draw- 
ing to  a  close.  Then  it  was  that  the  Czarina  seemed  to  him  as 
a  consoling  angel.  A  secret  melancholy  preyed  upon  his  mind, 
occasioned  by  the  check  his  ambition  had  received,  and  made 
dreadful  ravages  upon  his  health  ;  he,  therefore,  set  out  for 
Carlsbad,  accompanied  by  Catherine,  who  now  never  quitted  him. 
On  his  return,  the  marriage  took  place  between  the  Czarowitz 
Alexis  and  the  Princess  of  Wolfenbuttel.  The  nuptial  cere- 
mony was  performed  at  Torgau,  on  the  9th  of  January,  1712. 

Catherine  has  been  accused  of  exciting  Peter's  hatred  towards 
his  son — an  odious  imputation,  which  nothing  appears  to  justify. 
The  Prince  Alexis  Petrowitz  had  always  been  an  object  of  dis- 
like to  his  father,  and  this  feeling  was  greatly  aggravated  by  the 


CATHERINE     ALEXIEWNA.  241 

prince's  own  conduct.  The  time  of  these  scenes  has  long  been 
past,  and  we  may  now  dispassionately  weigh  the  conduct  of 
both  father  and  son.  But  it  is  cruelly  unjust  to  impute  these 
dissensions  to  the  Czarina,  without  a  single  fact  to  substantiate 
the  charge.  Catherine  was  not  at  Torgau  when  the  prince's 
marriage  took  place,  but  at  Thorn,  in  Polish  Prussia.  An  ex- 
cuse had  been  made  to  prevent  her  from  being  present  at  the 
ceremony,  but  it  was  in  no  wise  connected  with  her  feelings  as  a 
step-mother.  Though  Czarina  of  Kussia,  she  had,  nevertheless, 
at  that  period  not  been  formally  acknowledged,  and  had  only 
the  title  of  Highness  which  rendered  her  rank  too  equivocal  for 
her  name  to  appear  in  the  marriage  contract,  or  for  the  rigidity 
of  German  etiquette  to  assign  her  a  place  in  the  ceremony  suita- 
ble to  the  wife  of  the  Czar.  On  the  conclusion  of  the  marriage 
Peter  sent  the  young  couple  to  Wolfenbuttel,  and  proceeded  to 
Thorn  to  fetch  Catherine,  whom  he  conducted  to  Petersburg 
with  the  dispatch  and  simplicity  that  always  characterized  his 
mode  of  traveling. 

Some  weeks  after,  and  without  Catherine  having  manifested 
the  slightest  wish  on  the  subject,  Peter  again  formally  de- 
clared his  marriage,  and  on  the  19th  of  February,  1712,  she  was 
regularly  proclaimed  Czarina.  Though  in  consequence  of  the 
disasters  of  the  late  war,  the  ceremony  on  this  occasion  was  less 
magnificent  than  it  would  otherwise  have  been  ;  it  bore,  neverthe- 
less, a  character  of  splendor  which  no  other  monarch  than  Peter 
could  have  imparted  to  it,  especially  at  that  period.  This  was 
the  philosophy  displayed  by  the  chief  of  a  great  empire,  who  at 
the  very  time  he  had  obtained  a  princely  alliance  for  the  heir 
to  his  throne — for  that  Czarowitz  whose  birth  was  the  only  ad- 
vantage he  possessed — placed  as  his  own  consort  upon  that 
throne  an  obscure  female,  a  slave  captured  during  the  sacking 


242  CATHERINE     ALEXIEWNA. 

of  a  town,  but  in  whom  he  had  found  a  noble  mind  and  a  gene- 
rous heart.  There  is  in  his  action  a  real  respect  for  high  genius 
— there  is,  moreover,  a  grateful  sense  of  kind  and  useful  ser- 
vices which  does  the  greatest  honor  to  the  human  heart. 

Catherine  again  became  pregnant,  and  in  1713  gave  birth  to 
another  daughter.  She  had  hoped  for  a  son,  as  Peter  made  no 
secret  of  his  wish  to  have  one  ;  and  the  disappointment  affected 
her  so  much  that  she  became  seriously  ill.  At  length  a  fresh 
pregnancy  was  announced,  on  which  occasion  Peter  instituted 
the  order  of  St.  Catherine,  and  celebrated  the  event  by  a  tri- 
umphal entry. 

Of  all  the  sights  which  Peter  could  give  his  subjects,  this  was 
the  most  pleasing  to  them.  On  the  present  occasion,  the  officers 
of  the  Swedish  navy,  whom  the  Czar  had  made  prisoners,  with 
Rear-admiral  Erenschild  at  their  head,  were  made  to  pass  under 
a  triumphal  arch  which  Peter  had  himself  designed,  and  do 
homage  to  a  half-savage,  named  Romodanowski,  upon  whom  the 
Czar,  in  one  of  his  jovial  fits,  had  had  conferred  the  mock-title 
of  Czar  of  Moscow,  treating  him  in  public  as  if  he  were  really 
master  of  that  city,  and  ordering  almost  all  his  decrees  to  be 
followed.  This  man,  the  most  rude  and  brutal  of  Russians, 
was  Peter's  court-fool,  kept  in  imitation  of  the  practice  in  the 
middle  ages.  Romodanowski  had  always  a  frightful  bear  by 
his  side,  which  he  had  made  his  favorite,  as  he  was  himself  the 
favorite  of  his  imperial  master. 

The  Czarina  was  at  length  delivered  of  a  son.  But  the  Czar's 
pleasure  at  this  event  was  embittered  by  the  Czarowitz  Alexis 
having  also  a  son  ;  and  this  rekindled  in  his  bosom  those  stormy 
passions  often  so  dreadful,  even  to  the  objects  of  his  fondest  af- 
fection. 

Catherine's  confinement  interrupted  for  a  time  her  excursions 


CATHERINE     ALEXIEWNA.  243 

with  the  Czar  through  his  dominions,  sometimes  upon  the  lakes, 
and  sometimes  at  sea,  even  during  violent  storms  ;  but  they  were 
resumed  on  her  recovery.  Peter  had  visited  every  part  of  Eu- 
rope, like  a  man  anxious  to  acquire  knowledge,  and  to  study 
the  manners  of  different  nations.  He  now  resolved  to  make  a 
second  tour,  and  study  the  manners  of  courts.  Catherine  ac- 
companied him  to  Copenhagen,  Prussia,  and  several  of  the  Ger- 
man principalities.  At  length  Peter  saw  Amsterdam  once  more, 
and  visited  the  cottage  at  Sardam,  in  which  he  had  long  resided 
as  a  simple  shipwright.  He,  however,  reached  the  Dutch  capital 
alone,  the  Czarina  having  remained  at  Schwerin,  unwell,  and  far 
advanced  in  pregnancy.  Some  hours  after  he  had  left  her,  she 
was  informed  that,  during  his"  residence  at  Sardam,  he  had  pas- 
sionately loved  a  young  girl  of  that  place.  In  alarm  at  this 
information,  she  immediately  left  Schwerin  to  follow  him,  not- 
withstanding the  intense  cold — it  being  then  the  month  of 
January.  On  reaching  Vesel,  the  pains  of  labor  came  on  un- 
expectedly, and  she  was  delivered  of  a  male  child,  which  died 
soon  after.  In  less  than  twenty-four  hours  after,  she  resumed 
her  journey,  and  on  the  tenth  day  arrived  at  Amsterdam.  Peter 
at  first  received  her  with  anger ;  but  moved  by  this  proof  of 
her  affection,  in  which  she  had  risked  her  life  to  follow  him,  he 
soon  forgave  her.  They  visited  together  the  cottage  at  Sardam, 
which  had  been  converted  into  an  elegant  and  commodious  little 
dwelling  ;  thence  they  proceeded  to  the  house  of  a  rich  ship- 
builder named  Kalf,  where  they  dined.  Kalf  was  the  first  for- 
eigner who  had  traded  with  Petersburg,  and  had  thereby  won 
the  Czar's  gratitude.  Catherine  took  great  notice  of  this  family, 
because  she  knew  that  Peter  was  pleased  at  the  attentions  she 
bestowed  upon  foreigners  of  talent  in  general,  and  especially 
upon  Kalf,  to  whom  he  considered  himself  so  greatly  indebted. 


244  CATHERINE     ALEXIEWNA. 

The  Czar  remained  three  months  in  Holland,  where  he  was 
detained  by  matters  of  great  moment.  The  European  con- 
spiracy of  Goetz  and  Alberoni,  in  favor  of  the  Stuarts,  had 
already  extended  its  ramifications  far  and  wide,  and  Peter 
deemed  it  necessary  to  go  to  Paris  in  order  to  see  more  clearly 
into  the  plot.  But  a  too  rigorous  etiquette  would  have  been 
required  for  the  Czarina,  at  the  French  court ;  and,  being  ap- 
prehensive of  the  trifling  and  sarcastic  wit  of  the  French  cour- 
tiers, he  was  unwilling  to  expose  his  consort  to  that  which  the 
Livonian  peasant  and  the  slave  of  Menzicoff  might  have  been 
forced  to  endure.  Catherine,  therefore,  remained  in  Holland 
during  his  absence.  On  his  return,  he  listened  very  attentively 
to  her  remarks  on  the  plan  of  Goetz  and  Alberoni,  and  it  was 
by  her  advice  that  he  kept  in  such  perfect  measure  with  all  the 
conspirators,  leaving  them  to  place  their  batteries,  and  reserving 
to  himself  the  power  of  either  using  or  rendering  them  nugatory, 
as  it  might  suit  his  purpose. 

Catherine,  at  this  period,  was  only  thirty-three  years  of  age, 
and  as  beautiful  as  on  the  day  when  Peter  first  beheld  her.  The 
strong  feeling  then  inspired  by  the  young  and  artless  girl,  had 
ripened  into  a  sentiment  of  deep  affection  identic  with  his  ex- 
istence ;  it  had  become  a  passion  which,  in  a  man  like  Peter 
the  Great,  was  necessarily  exclusive  and  suspicious.  In  him, 
jealousy  was  like  a  raging  fiend — its  effects  were  appalling. 
But  I  must  not  anticipate.  He  continued  to  travel  with  Cathe- 
rine by  his  side,  happy  at  seeing  her  share  his  fatigues,  not  only 
without  repining,  but  with  the  same  smile  upon  her  lips,  the 
same  sparkle  in  her  eye.  Yet  the  life  they  both  led  was  as 
simple  and  as  full  of  privations  as  that  of  Charles  XII.  or  the 
King  of  Prussia.  The  train  of  a  German  bishop  was  more 
magnificent  than  that  of  the  sovereigns  of  Russia.  During  this 


CATHERINE     ALEXIEWNA.  245 

journey  to  Holland,  Catherine,  to  avoid  a  short  separation  from 
the  Czar,  tnade  an  excursion  with  him  which  lasted  ten  days, 
during  which  she  had  not  a  single  female  attendant.  It  was  by 
such  attentions  that  she  secured  her  power  over  Peter's  heart. 

The  Czar  had  originally  intended  to  prolong  his  journey,  and 
proceed  to  Vienna,  whither  he  had  been  invited  by  the  Emperor 
of  Austria,  his  son's  brother-in-law.  But  important  news  from 
Russia  induced  him  to  alter  his  intention,  and  return  in  all  haste 
to  Petersburg,  where  the  noble  qualities  of  a  great  monarch 
were  soon  to  disappear,  and  leave  in  their  room  nothing  but  the 
ferocity  of  a  savage  and  blood-thirsty  Scythian. 

His  son,  he  said,  was  conspiring  against  him.  But  the  un- 
happy prince  was  a  mere  tool  in  the  hands  of  the  monks,  and 
of  the  old  disaffected  boyards  who  had  resisted  Peter's  measures 
for  the  civilization  of  his  country. 

Eudocia  Theodorowna  Lapaukin,  Peter's  first  wife,  had  been 
educated  in  the  prejudices  and  superstitions  of  her  age  and 
country.  Unable  to  comprehend  the  great  designs  of  the  Czar, 
she  had  always  endeavored  to  impede  them.  Her  son  had  been 
allowed  constantly  to  visit  her  in  her  retirement,  and  had  im- 
bibed from  her  the  same  feelings  against  his  father's  innova- 
tions. He  considered  them  sacrilegious  and  abominable,  and 
was  led  to  suppose  that  his  opinions  were  shared  by  the  whole 
nation.  Thus  was  the  bitterest  animosity  excited  between  the 
Czar  and  his  son,  and  attended  with  those  lamentable  effects 
which  always  ensue  when  the  bonds  of  nature  are  burst  asunder 
by  hatred.  This  feeling,  when  it  exists  between  a  parent  and 
his  child,  ought  to  have  a  separate  name. 

The  Czar's  marriage  with  Catherine  had  completed  the  dis- 
affection of  the  prince,  who  considered  himself  a  victim  destined 
to  be  sacrified  in  order  to  leave  the  throne  free  for  the  children 


246  CATHERINE     ALEXIEWNA. 

of  this  new  marriage.  Haunted  by  these  feelings,  and  by  a 
dread  of  his  father's  ultimate  projects  with  regard  to  himself, 
he  sought  refuge  in  debauchery  of  the  lowest  and  most  debasing 
kind,  to  which  indeed  he  had  always  been  addicted.  His  life 
was  now  most  brutal  and  degrading.  His  marriage,  far  from 
reclaiming  him,  had  rather  increased  his  evil  propensities.  His 
wife  died  from  ill-usage,  aggravated  by  the  want  of  even  the 
common  necessaries,  four  years  after  their  union,  leaving  him 
an  only  son. 

It  was  at  this  period  that  Peter  began  to  be  alarmed  at  the 
future  prospects  of  Russia.  If  the  nation,  scarcely  emancipated 
from  its  savage  state,  fell  under  the  rule  of  his  son,  he  foresaw 
the  annihilation  of  all  his  plans  of  improvement,  and  that  his 
successor  would  become  the  slave  of  those  old  boyards  with  long 
beards,  who  could  not  elevate  their  minds  above  the  rude  and 
barbarous  customs  of  their  ancestors.  This  induced  him,  before 
he  set  out  for  Germany,  to  write  to  the  Czarowitz,  offering  him 
his  choice  of  a  change  of  conduct  or  a  cloister. 

The  Czar  was  in  Denmark  when  he  heard  that  his  son  had 
clandestinely  left  Russia,  and  he  immediately  returned  to  Mos- 
cow. Alexis,  betrayed  by  his  mistress,  was  arrested  at  Naples, 
and  conducted  back  to  Moscow.  On  appearing  before  his  irri- 
tated parent,  he  trembled  for  his  life,  and  tendered.a  voluntary 
renunciation  of  his  claims  to  the  throne. 

It  has  been  urged  by  some  writers  that  the  influence  of  a 
step-mother  was  but  too  apparent  in  the  bitterness  of  Peter's 
feelings  toward  the  Czarowitz.  Catherine  had  a  son  just  born  ; 
she  had  also  two  daughters,  and  it  was  but  reasonable  that  she 
should  entertain  fears  on  their  account,  if  Alexis  succeeded  to 
the  throne.  And  was  it  natural,  they  ask,  that  a  father  should 
offer  his  first-born  as  a  sacrifice  to  fears  that  might  never  be 


CATHERINE     ALEXIEWNA.  247 

realized  ? — that  he  should  use  the  blood  of  his  child  as  a  cement 
to  join  the  stones  of  his  political  edifice  ? 

But  Peter  had  real  grounds  of  apprehension  for  the  safety  of 
the  establishments  he  had  created,  and  was  justified  in  supposing 
that  the  plans  he  might  leave  to  be  executed  by  his  successor, 
would  never  be  carried  into  execution.  He  had  spent  his  life 
in  emancipating  his  country  from  the  lowest  state  of  moral  degra- 
dation, and  he  anticipated  the  glory  to  which  his  empire  would 
rise  after  his  death.  He,  therefore,  discarded  the  feelings  of  the 
father  to  assume  those  of  the  stern  legislator ;  and  perhaps  he 
felt  less  difficulty  in  doing  so  from  the  brutalized  condition  of  his 
son,  whom  he  had  never  beheld  with  affection. 

On  the  14th  of  February,  1718,  the  great  bell  of  Moscow 
vibrated  its  hollow  death-knell  through  the  city.  The  privy 
councillors  and  boyards  were  assembled  in  the  Kremlin  ;  the 
archimandrites,  the  bishops,  and  the  monks  of  St.  Basil,  in  the 
cathedral.  A  vast  multitude  circulated,  in  silent  consternation, 
through  the  city,  and  it  went  from  mouth  to  mouth  that  the 
Czarowitz  was  about  to  be  condemned  on  the  accusation  of  his 
father. 

Alexis  still  clung  to  life,  and,  in  the  hope  that  he  might  yet 
be  allowed  to  live,  tendered  a  second  renunciation  of  his  claims 
to  the  throne,  expressly  in  favor  of  Catherine's  children.  When 
he  had  signed  it,  he  thought  himself  safe.  How  little  did  he 
know  his  stern  father  !  He  was  conducted  to  the  cathedral,  there 
again  to  hear  the  act  of  his  exheredation  read ;  and  when  he 
had  drained  the  cup  of  anguish  prepared  for  him,  it  was  filled 
again  and  again.  But  the  debased  heart  of  the  wretched  man 
would  not  break  ;  he  was  unable  to  feel  the  full  weight  of 
infamy  heaped  upon  him. 

On  his  return,  sentence  of  death  was  passed  upon  him,  and 


248  CATHERINE     ALEXIEWNA. 

he  fell  into  dreadful  convulsions,  which  terminated  in  apoplexy. 
Before  he  received  the  sacrament,  he  requested  to  see  his  father. 
Peter  went  to  his  bed-side — unmoved  at  the  groans  of  the  son 
whom  his  words  had  stricken  with  death.  For  a  time  the  symp- 
toms became  milder,  but  they  soon  after  returned  with  greater 
violence,  and  in  the  evening  the  prince  expired. 

Catherine  attended  the  funeral ;  perhaps  she  did  so  in  com- 
pliance with  the  Czar's  wish  ;  but  it  has  been  imputed  to  her  as 
a  sort  of  savage  triumph  over  the  remains  of  him  who  was  now 
unable  ever  to  come  forward  and  say  to  her  son,  "  Give  me  back 
my  crown." 

Those  anxious  to  divest  her  of  all  blame  in  this  tragical  event, 
pretend  that  she  had  entreated  the  Czar  to  shut  up  the  prince 
in  a  monastery.  But  this  defence  is  more  injurious  than  useful ; 
as  it  shows  that,  at  all  events,  she  advised  shutting  out  from  the 
world  him  whom  God  had  placed  upon  the  steps  of  the  throne 
before  her  son.  On  the  other  hand  it  is  said,  that  Catherine, 
if  she  interfered  at  all,  should  have  used  her  exertions,  even  to 
the  braving  of  Peter's  wrath,  to  prevent  the  condemnation  of 
Alexis,  for  whose  life  she  was  more  accountable  than  his  own 
mother ;  and  that  she,  whose  influence  over  the  Czar  was  un- 
bounded, who  could  at  all  times  awaken  the  kindliest  emotions 
of  his  nature,  must  have  succeeded,  had  she  seriously  made  the 
attempt,  in  obtaining  the  prince's  pardon. 

But  this  is  mere  hypothetical  reasoning.  Nobody  either 
knew,  or  could  know,  what  passed  in  private  "between  the  Czar 
and  his  consort,  and  it  is  but  just  to  give  Catherine  the  benefit 
of  her  conduct  throughout  her  whole  previous  life,  no  one  act 
of  which  can  justify  such  an  imputation. 

I  have,  however,  seen  a  manuscript,  in  which  it  is  positively 
asserted,  that  Catherine  was  by  no  means  guiltless  of  the  death 


CATHERINE     ALEXIEWNA.  249 

of  Alexis  ;  and  in  support  of  this  statement,  it  is  urged,  that  her 
power  over  the  Czar  was  so  great  as  to  eradicate  the  hatred  he 
had  so  long  entertained  toward  Charles  XII.  Certain  it  is, 
that  Peter  followed  her  advice  in  most  of  his  great  political 
measures  ;  and  it  was  much  more  through  her  exertions,  than 
those  of  Messrs.  Groetz  and  Alberoni,  that  the  famous  treaty 
was  concluded  to  restore  the  Stuarts  to  the  throne  of  England. 
But  is  this  alone  sufficient  to  stamp  her  memory  with  so  foul  a 
stain  ? — and  was  not  the  case  of  the  Czarowitz  one  calculated  to 
call  forth,  with  a  violence  which  no  influence  could  repress,  all 
the  savage  ferocity  of  Peter's  character  ? 

Scarcely  was  the  treaty  concluded  against  the  reigning  family 
in  England,  ere  a  chance-ball  from  a  culverin  killed  Charles 
XII.  in  Frederickshall.  This  event  was  soon  succeeded  by  other 
disasters — the  Spanish  fleet  was  burned  ;  the  conspiracy  of  Cel- 
lamarre  was  discovered  in  France ;  Goetz  was  beheaded  at 
Stockholm,  and  Alberoni  banished  from  Italy.  And  of  this 
formidable  league  the  Czar  alone  remained — having  committed 
himself  with  none  of  the  conspirators,  and  yet  being  master  of 
the  whole.  It  was  Catherine  who  had  communicated  with  G-oetz 
in  Holland,  because,  though  the  Czar  wished  to  avoid  speaking 
to  him,  he  was  nevertheless  anxious  to  treat.  She  it  was  who 
managed  the  whole  business,  and  in  truth  she  displayed  won- 
derful address  and  diplomatic  tact.  Soon  after  the  failure  of 
the  conspiracy,  she  again  rendered  the  Czar  a  service  almost  as 
signal  as  that  on  the  banks  of  the  Pruth.  On  the  death  of 
Charles  XII.,  the  negotiations  with  Sweden  were  again  broken 
off.  Though  the  congress  of  Aland  was  not  dissolved,  the  Eng- 
lish and  Swedish  fleets  had  united,  and  hostilities  were  again 
threatened.  The  new  Queen  of  Sweden,  however,  being  de- 
sirous of  peace,  had  the  Czarina  privately  spoken  to ;  and 


250  CATHERINE     ALEXIEWNA. 

Catherine  communicated  this  to  Peter,  who,  acting  upon  her 
advice,  consented  to  the  holding  of  a  congress  at  Neustadt,  in 
Finland,  where  peace  was  concluded  on  the  10th  of  September, 
1721.  The  exertions  of  Catherine  contributed  much  more  to 
bring  about  this  event,  than  the  united  talents  of  the  statesmen 
composing  the  congress. 

Peter  was  overjoyed  at  this  peace.  He  was  now  able  to  em- 
ploy his  numerous  armies  in  cutting  roads  and  canals  through 
Russia,  and  in  such  other  works  as  formed  part  of  his  plans  for 
the  improvement  of  his  country.  The  triumphal  entries  which 
I  have  before  mentioned,  were  nothing  in  comparison  to  the 
rejoicings  which  took  place  on  this  occasion.  The  prisons  were 
thrown  open,  and  all  criminals  pardoned,  except  those  guilty  of 
high  treason,  to  whom  the  Czar  could  not  consistently  extend 
his  clemency,  after  having  condemned  his  son  to  death  for  the 
same  crime. 

Russia  now  conferred  upon  Peter  the  titles  of  Father  of  his 
Country,  Great,  and  Emperor.  The  Chancellor  Goloffkin,  at 
the  head  of  the  senate  and  synod,  and  speaking  in  the  name  of 
all  the  bodies  of  the  state,  saluted  him  by  these  titles,  in  the 
great  cathedral.  On  the  same  day,  the  ambassadors  of  France, 
Germany,  England,  Denmark,  and  Sweden,  complimented  him 
by  the  same  titles.  He  was  now  acknowledged  Emperor  through- 
out Europe  ;  and  strong  among  the  strong,  the  prosperity  of  his 
dominions  doubled  his  power. 

"  It  is  my  wish,"  said  he  one  day,  to  the  Archbishop  of  No- 
vogorod,  "  to  acknowledge  by  a  striking  public  ceremony  all 
the  services  which  Catherine  has  rendered  me.  It  is  she  who 
has  maintained  me  in  the  place  I  now  occupy.  She  is  not 
only  my  tutelary  angel,  but  that  of  the  Russian  empire.  She 
shall  be  anointed  and  crowned  Empress  ;  and  as  you  are  primate 


CATHERINE     ALEXIEWNA.  251 

of  Russia,  you  shall  perform  the  ceremony  of  her  consecra- 
tion." 

The  archbishop  bowed.  He  had  long  been  anxious  that  Peter 
should  revive  the  patriarchate,  and  this  opportunity  seemed 
to  him  too  good  to  be  lost.  "He,  therefore,  observed  to  the 
emperor,  that  such  a  ceremony  would  derive  additional  splendor 
from  being  performed  by  the  patriarch  of  Russia. 

"  Sir,"  replied  Peter,  with  a  frown,  "  had  I  required  a 
patriarch  in  my  dominions,  I  should  long  since  have  appointed 
Jotoff,*  who  would  make  a  very  good  one.  Catherine  shall  be 
crowned,  and  well  crowned  too — but  without  a  patriarch." 

The  archbishop  attempted  to  reply ;  but  Peter  having  lifted 
a  stick  which  he  always  carried,  the  prelate  was  silent. 

On  the  18th  of  May,  1724,  the  ceremony  of  Catherine's 
coronation  took  place  in  the  cathedral  at  Moscow.  The  de- 
claration made  by  the  emperor  on  this  occasion,  after  stating 
that  several  Christian  princes,  and  among  others  Justinian,  Leo 
the  philosopher,  and  St.  Heraelius,  had  crowned  their  wives  in 
the  same  manner,  contained  the  following  words : — 

"  And  being  further  desirous  of  acknowledging  the  eminent 
services  she  has  rendered  us,  especially  in  our  war  with  Turkey, 
when  our  army,  reduced  to  twenty-two  thousand  men,  had  to 
contend  with  more  than  two  hundred  thousand,  we  crown  and 
proclaim  her  Empress  of  Russia." 

Peter,  always  simple  in  his  dress,  was  pleased  to  see  Catherine 
follow  his  example  ;  but  no  man  knew  better  how  to  use  pomp 
and  pageantry  when  the  occasion  required  it.  At  this  cere- 
mony, Catherine  appeared  resplendent  with  gold  and  jewels, 
and  her  retinue  was  worthy  of  a  great  sovereign.  One  thing 
in  it  was  remarkable— the  emperor  walked  before  her  on  foot, 

*  Joto/T  was  a  half-witted  old  man,  a  sort  of  buffoon. 


252  CATHERINE     ALEXIEWNA. 

as  captain  of  a  company  of  new  body-guards,  which  he  had 
formed  under  the  title  of  Knights  of  the  Empress.  When  the 
procession  reached  the  church,  he  stationed  himself  by  her  side, 
and  remained  there  during  the  whole  ceremony.  He  himself 
placed  the  crown  upon  her  head.  She  then  attempted  to  em- 
brace his  knees ;  but  he  raised  her  before  her  knee  had  touched 
the  ground,  and  embraced  her  tenderly.  On  their  return,  he 
ordered  that  the  crown  and  sceptre  should  be  borne  before  her. 
Catherine  had  reason  to  be  proud  of  such  a  triumph  of  genius 
over  the  prejudices  of  society ;  but  she  was  not  long  to  enjoy 
it,  for  a  cruel  reverse  awaited  her,  and  that  reverse  was  brought 
on  by  her  own  folly. 

Catherine  owed  everything  to  the  emperor,  and  the  benefits 
he  had  conferred  upon  her,  claimed  a  strength  of  gratitude 
never  to  be  shaken.  But  an  offence  which  she  received,  and 
the  conviction  that  the  emperor  had  become  indifferent  to  her, 
made  her  for  a  moment  lose  sight  of  this  feeling,  and  led  to  the 
deplorable  events  which  I  have  still  to  relate. 

One  day,  whilst  the  empress  was  at  her  toilet,  a  vice-admiral, 
named  Villebois,  a  Frenchman  in  the  service  of  Russia,  arrived 
with  a  message  from  the  emperor.  Villebois  was  a  man  of  low 
origin ;  he  had  left  his  country  to  avoid  the  gallows,  and  the 
grossness  of  his  habits  was  such  as  qualified  him  to  be  one  of 
Peter's  pot-companions.  He  was  completely  intoxicated  when 
he  entered  the  empress's  apartment.  This  Catherine  did  not 
at  first  perceive  ;  but  she  made  the  discovery  by  receiving  from 
Villebois  one  of  the  grossest  insults  that  can  be  offered  to  a 
woman.  She  demanded  vengeance  of  the  emperor  for  this 
affront ;  but  Peter  laughed  at  it,  and  merely  condemned  the 
offender  to  six  months'  labor  at  the  galleys. 

The  seeming  indifference  which  dictated  this  sentence,  cut 


CATHERINE     ALEXIEWNA.  253 

her  to  the  soul.  She  imagined  she  had  lost  Peter's  affection, 
for  it  was  the  only  way  in  which  she  could  account  for  his  not 
punishing  more  severely  the  man  who  had  offended  her.  On 
other  occasions  he  would  inflict  death  for  an  indiscreet  word, 
and  here,  he  had  treated  with  ridicule  a  gross  outrage  offered  to 
his  wife — to  that  Catherine  whom  he  had  once  so  fondly  loved. 
This  unfortunate  idea  having  once  taken  possession  of  her  mind, 
daily  gained  strength. 

Ever  since  her  coronation,  she  had  an  establishment  separate 
from  that  of  the  emperor.  Her  lady  of  the  bed-chamber, 
Madame  de  Balk,  was  that  same  beautiful  Anna  Moens  to 
whom  Peter  had  formerly  been  attached,  and  who  had  refused 
to  become  Czarina.  She  had  first  married  the  Prussian  minister 
Kayserlingen,  and  after  his  death,  Lieutenant-General  Balk. 
Peter  had  placed  her  in  her  present  station,  and  had  also 
appointed  her  brother,  Moens  de  la  Croix,  chamberlain  to  the 
empress.  Moens  was  young,  handsome,  and  highly  accom- 
plished. The  admiration  he  at  first  felt  for  Catherine  soon 
ripened  into  a  warmer  feeling,  and,  unhappily,  he  had  but  too 
frequent  opportunities  of  seeing  her  in  private.  On  the  other 
hand,  the  mind  of  the  empress  was  ill  at  ease,  and  needed  con- 
solation. This  led  to  a  most  imprudent  intimacy,  which,  if 
not  connected  with  guilt  in  Catherine,  was,  to  say  the  least  of 
it,  extremely  improper. 

By  the  care  of  Madame  de  Balk  it  remained  for  a  long  time 
unperceived.  But  at  length,  Jagouchinsky,  a  contemptible  ruf- 
fian, then  a  favorite  of  Peter's,  and  one  of  the  companions  of 
his  orgies,  had  a  suspicion  of  it,  and  determined  to  watch  the 
empress  and  her  chamberlain.  Having  at  length  satisfied  him- 
self that  his  conjectures  were  not  unfounded,  he  boldly  declared 
to  Peter  that  Catherine  was  faithless  to  his  bed.  On  receiving 


254  CATHERINE     ALEXIEWNA. 

this  intimation,  the  emperor  roared  like  a  raging  lion.  His 
first  idea  was  to  put  her  and  her  supposed  paramour  to  death, 
and  then  stab  the  informer  to  the  heart,  as  being  acquainted 
with  his  shame.  But,  on  reflection,  he  resolved  to  do  nothing 
till  he  had  obtained  full  evidence  of  the  crime.  He,  therefore, 
feigned  to  quit  Petersburg,  but  only  retired  to  his  winter 
palace,  whence  he  sent  a  confidential  page  to  the  empress  that 
he  should  be  absent  two  days. 

At  midnight  he  entered  a  secret  gallery  of  Catherine's  palace, 
of  which  he  alone  kept  the  key.  Here  he  passed  Madame  de 
Balk  unperceived,  and  entered  a  room  where  a  page,  who  either 
did  not  know  him  or  pretended  not  to  know  him,  attempted  to 
stop  his  progress.  Peter  knocked  him  down,  and  entering  the 
next  apartment  found  the  empress  in  conversation  with  Moens. 
Having  approached  them,  he  made  an  attempt  to  speak,  but 
the  violence  of  his  emotion  choked  his  utterance.  Casting  at 
the  chamberlain,  and  at  his  sister,  who  had  just  entered  the 
room,  one  of  those  withering  glances  which  speak  but  too 
plainly,  he  turned  towards  Catherine,  and  struck  her  so  violently 
with  his  cane  that  the  blood  gushed  from  her  neck  and  shoulder. 
Then  rushing  out  of  the  room,  he  ran  like  a  mad-man  to  the 
house  of  Prince  Repnin,  and  burst  violently  into  his  bed-room. 

The  Prince  roused  from  his  sleep,  and  seeing  the  emperor 
standing  by  his  bed-side  frantic  with  rage,  gave  himself  up  for  lost. 

"  Get  up,"  said  Peter,  in  a  hoarse  voice,  "  and  fear  nothing. 
Don't  tremble,  man — thou  hast  nothing  to  fear." 

Repnin  rose  and  heard  the  emperor's  tale.  Meantime 
Peter  was  walking  up  and  down  the  room,  breaking  everything 
within  his  reach. 

"  At  day-break,"  said  he,  when  he  had  finished  his  tale,  "  I 
will  have  this  ungrateful  wanton  beheaded." 


CATHERINE     ALEXIEWNA.  255 

"  No,  sir,"  replied  Repnin  with  firmness,  "  you  will  give  no 
such  orders.  You  will  take  this  matter  into  further  considera- 
tion ;  first,  because  you  have  been  injured,  and  secondly,  be- 
cause you  are  the  absolute  master  of  your  subjects.  But  why, 
sir,  should  the  circumstance  be  divulged  ? — it  can  answer  no 
good  purpose.  You  have  revenged  yourself  upon  the  Strelitz  ; 
you  have  considered  it  your  duty  to  condemn  your  own  son  to 
death  ;  and  if  you  now  behead  the  empress,  your  fame  will  be 
forever  tarnished.  Let  not  each  phasis  of  your  reign  be  marked 
by  blood.  Let  Moens  die  ; — but  the  empress  ! — would  you  at 
the  very  moment  you  have  placed  the  imperial  crown  upon  her 
head,  sever  that  head  ?  No,  sir  !  the  crown  you  gave  her  ought 
to  be  her  safeguard." 

Peter  made  no  reply — he  was  fearfully  agitated.  For  a  con- 
siderable time  he  kept  his  eyes  sternly  fixed  upon  Repnin,  then 
left  him  without  uttering  another  word.  Moens  and  his  sister 
were  immediately  arrested,  and  imprisoned  in  a  room  of  the 
winter-palace.  Their  food  was  taken  to  them  by  Peter  him- 
self, who  allowed  no  other  person  to  see  them. 

At  length  he  interrogated  Moens  in  the  presence  of  General 
Uschakoff.  Having  fixed  his  eyes  upon  the  chamberlain  with  a 
disdainful  look,  he  told  him  that  he  was  accused,  as  was  also  his 
sister,  of  having  received  presents,  and  thereby  endangered  the 
reputation  of  the  empress. 

Moens  returned  Peter's  scowl,  and  replied  : — 

"  Your  victim  is  before  you,  sir.  State  as  my  confession 
anything  you  please,  and  I  will  admit  all." 

The  emperor  smiled  with  convulsive  bitterness.  Proceedings 
were  immediately  begun  against  the  brother  and  sister.  Moens 
was  condemned  to  be  beheaded — Madame  de  Balk  to  receive 
eleven  blows  with  the  knout.  This  lady  had  two  sons,  one  a 


256  CATHERINE      ALEXIEWNA. 

page,  the  other  a  chamberlain  ;  both  were  degraded  from  their 
rank,  and  sent  to  the  Persian  army  to  serve  as  common 
soldiers. 

Catherine  threw  herself  at  the  emperor's  feet  to  obtain  the 
pardon  of  Madame  de  Balk,  reminding  Peter  how  dearly  he  had 
once  loved  Anna  Moens.  The  emperor  brutally  pushed  her 
back,  and  in  his  fury  broke  with  a  blow  of  his  fist  a  large  and 
beautiful  Venitian  looking-glass. 

"  There,"  said  he,  "it  requires  only  a  blow  of  my  hand  to 
reduce  this  glass  to  its  original  dust." 

Catherine  looked  at  him  with  the  most  profound  anguish,  and 
replied,  in  a  melting  accent, — 

"  It  is  true  that  you  have  destroyed  one  of  the  greatest  orna- 
ments of  your  palace,  but  do  you  think  that  your  palace  will  be 
improved  by  it  ?" 

This  remark  rendered  the  emperor  more  calm,  but  he  refused 
to  grant  the  pardon.  The  only  thing  Catherine  could  obtain 
was,  that  the  number  of  blows  should  be  reduced  to  five.  These 
Peter  inflicted  with  his  own  hand. 

Moens  died  with  great  firmness.  He  had  in  his  possession  a 
miniature  portrait  of  the  empress  set  in  a  small  diamond  brace- 
let. It  was  not  perceived  when  he  was  arrested,  and  he  had 
preserved  it  till  the  last  moment,  concealed  under  his  garter, 
whence  he  contrived  to  take  it  unperceived,  and  deliver  it  to 
the  Lutheran  minister  who  attended  him  and  who  exhorted 
him  to  return  it  to  the  empress. 

Peter  stationed  himself  at  one  of  the  windows  of  the  senate- 
house,  to  behold  the  execution.  When  all  was  over,  he  as- 
cended the  scaffold,  and  seizing  the  head  of  Moens  by  the  hair, 
lifted  it  up  with  the  ferocious  delight  of  a  savage  exulting  in 
successful  revenge.  Some  hours  after  he  entered  the  apart- 


CATHERINE     ALEXIEWNA.  257 

ment  of  the  empress.  He  found  her  pale  and  care-worn,  but 
her  eyes  were  tearless,  though  her  heart  was  bursting. 

"Come  and  take  a  drive,"  said  he,  seizing  her  by  the  hand 
and  dragging  her  towards  an  open  carriage.  When  she  had 
entered  it,  he  drove  her  himself  -to  the  foot  of  the  pole  to  which 
the  head  of  her  late  chamberlain  was  nailed. 

"  Such  is  the  end  of  traitors  !"  he  exclaimed — fixing  the  most 
scrutinizing  gaze  upon  Catherine's  eyes,  expecting  to  see  them 
full  of  tears.  But  the  empress  was  sufficiently  mistress  of  her 
emotions  to  appear  indifferent  to  this  sight  of  horror.  Peter 
conducted  her  back  to  the  palace,  and  had  scarcely  left  her 
when  she  fell  fainting  upon  the  floor. 

From  that  time  until  the  emperor's  last  illness,  they  never 
met  except  in  public.  It  is  said  that  Peter  burnt  a  will  he  had 
made,  appointing  Catherine  his  successor ;  but  there  is  not  the 
slightest  proof  that  such  a  will  ever  existed.  It  is  also  said  that 
he  stated  his  determination  of  having  her  head  shaved  and  con- 
fining her  in  a  convent,  immediately  after  the  marriage  of  Eliza- 
beth, her  second  daughter. 

Catherine  had  a  strong  party  at  the  Russian  court,  and  was 
extremely  popular  throughout  the  empire.  The  army  was 
wholly  devoted  to  her  ;  both  officers  and  men  had  seen  her 
among  them  sharing  their  dangers  and  privations,  and  she  was 
their  idol.  A  measure  of  such  extreme  harshness  would,  per- 
haps, have  endangered  Peter's  own  power,  and  exposed  him  to 
great  personal  danger.  Menzicoff,  an  able  and  clear-sighted 
statesman,  in  whom  the  empress  had  great  confidence,  was  at 
the  head  of  her  party,  and  ready  to  support  her  in  any  measures 
she  might  take  for  her  personal  safety.  But  the  violent  agita- 
tion to  which  Peter  had  been  lately  a  prey,  and  the  shock  he 
had  received  from  supposing  Catherine  faithless  to  his  bed, 


258  CATHERINE     ALEXIEWNA. 

brought  on  one  of  those  attacks  which  had  often  before  placed 
his  life  in  jeopardy.  This  time,  the  symptoms  appeared  so  ag- 
gravated, that  the  physicians  lost  all  hope.  The  convulsions 
succeeded  each  other  with  frightful  rapidity,  and  the  life  of 
Peter  the  Great  was  soon  beyond  the  power  of  human  art.  On 
receiving  intimation  of  his  illness,  Catherine  immediately  has- 
tened to  his  bed-side,  which  she  no  longer  quitted.  She  sat  up 
with  him  three  successive  nights,  without  taking  any  rest  during 
the  day,  and  on  the  28th  of  January,  1725,  he  expired  in  her 
arms. 

Peter  had  been  unable  to  speak  from  the  moment  his  com- 
plaint took  a  fatal  turn.  He,  however,  made  several  attempts 
to  write,  but  unsuccessfully  ;  and  the  following  words  alone 
could  be  made  out  :< — 

"  Let  everything  be  delivered  to " 

Meanwhile,  Menzicoff  had  taken  his  measures  to  secure  the 
throne  for  Catherine,  whose  son  had  died  in  1719.  He  seized 
upon  the  treasury  and  the  citadel,  and  the  moment  Peter's 
death  was  announced,  he  proclaimed  the  Empress  under  the 
name  of  Catherine  I.  He  encountered  but  little  opposition, 
and  the  great  majority  of  the  nation  hailed  her  accession  to  the 
throne  as  a  blessing. 

The  beginning  of  her  reign  was  glorious,  for  she  religiously 
followed  the  intentions  of  Peter.  He  had  instituted  the  Order 
of  St.  Alexander  Newski,  and  she  conferred  it ;  he  had  also 
formed  the  project  of  founding  an  academy,  and  she  founded  it. 
She  suppressed  the  rebellion  of  the  Cossacks,  and  there  is  no 
doubt  that,  if  she  had  lived,  her  reign  would  have  been  re- 
markable. But  a  short  time  after  her  accession  to  the  throne, 
she  fell  into  a  state  of  languor,  arising  from  a  serious  derange- 
ment of  her  health.  The  complaint  was  aggravated  by  an  im- 


CATHERINE     ALEXIEWNA.  259 


moderate  use  of  Tokay  wine,  in  which  her  physicians  could  not 
prevent  her  from  indulging  ;  and  she  died  on  the  27th  of  May, 
1727,  aged  thirty-eight  years. 

Catherine  was  one  of  the  most  extraordinary  women  the  world 
has  produced.  She  would  have  distinguished  herself  in  any 
station.  Her  soul  was  great  and  noble  ;  her  intellect  quick 
and  capacious.  Her  total  want  of  education  only  serves  to 
throw  a  stronger  light  upon  her  strength  of  mind  and  powerful 
genius.  Doubtless  there  are  some  passages  in  her  life,  which 
might,  with  advantage,  be  expunged  from  her  history ;  but 
much  has  been  imputed  to  her,  of  which  she  was  guiltless.  She 
has  been  taxed  with  hastening  Peter's  death,  by  giving  him 
poison.  This  Voltaire  has  triumphantly  refuted.  The  impu- 
tation was  raised  by  a  party  who  had  espoused  the  interests  of 
the  Czarowitz,  and  were  hostile  to  the  improvements  introduced 
by  Peter.  More  than  a  century  had  elapsed  since  these  events 
took  place,  and  the  hatred  and  prejudices  which  attended  them 
have  gradually  melted  away.  Any  but  a  dispassionate  examina- 
tion of  this  heinous  charge  is  now  impossible,  and  it  must  lead 
to  a  complete  acquittal  of  Catherine. 


MASS!   SHBBSSA, 

EMPRESS    OF    GERMANY,    AND    QUEEN    OF    HUNGARY, 

MARIA  THERESA,  of  Austria — born  on  the  13th  of  May, 
1717 — was  the  daughter  of  Charles  the  Sixth,  Emperor  of 
Germany,  and  Elizabeth  Christina,  of  Brunswick,  a  lovely  and 
amiable  woman,  who  possessed  and  deserved  her  husband's 
entire  confidence  and  affection. 

Maria  Theresa  had  beauty,  spirit,  and  understanding.  To 
her  sister,  Marianna,  she  was  tenderly  attached.  The  two  arch- 
duchesses were  brought  up  under  the  superintendence  of  their 
mother,  and  received  an  education  in  no  respect  different  from 
•  that  of  other  young  ladies  of  rank  of  the  same  age  and  country. 
In  those  accomplishments  to  which  her  time  was  chiefly  devoted, 
Maria  Theresa  made  rapid  progress.  She  inherited  from  her 
father  a  taste  for  music,  which  was  highly  cultivated,  and  re- 
mained to  the  end  of  her  life  one  of  her  principal  pleasures. 
She  danced  and  moved  with  exquisite  grace.  Metastasio,  who 
taught  her  Italian,  and  also  presided  over  her  musical  studies, 
speaks  of  his  pupil  with  delight  and  admiration,  and  in  his 
letters  he  often  alludes  to  her  talent,  her  docility,  and  the  sweet- 
ness of  her  manners.  Of  her  progress  in  graver  acquirements 
we  do  not  hear.  Much  of  her  time  was  given  to  the  strict  ob- 
servance of  the  forms  of  the  Roman  Catholic  faith  ;  and  though 
she  could  not  derive  from  the  bigoted  old  women  and  ecclesias- 
tics around  her  any  very  enlarged  and  enlightened  ideas  of 
religion,  her  piety  was  at  least  sincere.  She  omitted  no  oppor- 


264  MARIA     THERESA. 

tunities  of  obtaining  information  relative  to  the  history  and 
geography  of  her  country ;  and  she  appears  to  have  been  early 
possessed  with  a  most  magnificent  idea  of  the  power  and 
grandeur  of  her  family,  and  of  the  lofty  rank  to  which  she  was 
destined.  This  early  impression  of  her  own  vast  importance 
was  only  counterbalanced  by  her  feelings  and  habits  of  devotion, 
and  by  the  natural  sweetness  and  benignity  of  her  disposition. 
Such  was  Maria  Theresa  at  the  age  of  sixteen  or  seventeen. 
She  had  been  destined  from  her  infancy  to  marry  the  young 
Duke  of  Lorraine,  who  was  brought  up  in  the  court  of  Vienna, 
as  her  intended  husband.  It  is  very,  very  seldom  that  these 
political  state-marriages  terminate  happily,  or  harmonize  with 
the  wishes  and  feelings  of  those  principally  concerned  ;  but  in 
the  present  case  "  the  course  of  true  love"  was  blended  with 
that  of  policy.  Francis  Stephen  of  Lorraine  was  the  son  of 
Leopold,  Duke  of  Lorraine,  surnamed  the  Good  and  Benevolent. 
His  grandmother,  Leonora  of  Austria,  was  the  eldest  sister  of 
Charles  VI.,  and  he  was  consequently  the  cousin  of  his  intended 
bride.  Francis  was  not  possessed  of  shining  talents,  but  he  had 
a  good  understanding  and  an  excellent  heart ;  he  was,  besides, 
eminently  handsome,  indisputably  brave,  and  accomplished  in 
all  the  courtly  exercises  that  became  a  prince  and  a  gentleman. 
In  other  respects  his  education  had  been  strangely  neglected  ; 
he  could  scarcely  read  or  write.  From  childhood  the  two 
cousins  had  been  fondly  attached,  and  their  attachment  was 
perhaps  increased,  at  least  on  the  side  of  Maria  Theresa,  by 
those  political  obstacles  which  long  deferred  their  union,  and 
even  threatened  at  one  time  a  lasting  separation.  Towards  the 
end  of  his  reign  the  affairs  of  Charles  VI.,  through  his  imbe- 
cility and  misgovernment,  fell  into  the  most  deplorable,  the 
most  inextricable  confusion.  Overwhelmed  by  his  enemies, 


MARIA     THERESA.  265 

unaided  by  his  friends  and  allies,  he  absolutely  entertained  the 
idea  of  entering  into  a  treaty  with  Spain,  and  offering  his  daugh- 
ter Maria  Theresa,  in  marriage  to  Prince  Charles,  the  heir  of 
that  monarchy. 

But  Maria  Theresa  was  not  of  a  temper  to  submit  quietly  to 
an  arrangement  of  which  she  was  to  be  made  the  victim  ;  she 
remonstrated,  she  wept,  she  threw  herself  for  support  and  assist- 
ance into  her  mother's  arms.  The  empress,  who  idolized  her 
daughter  and  regarded  the  Duke  of  Lorraine  as  her  son,  in- 
cessantly pleaded  against  this  sacrifice  of  her  daughter's  happi- 
ness. The  English  minister  at  Vienna*  gives  the  following 
lively  description  of  the  state  of  affairs  at  this  time,  and  of  the 
feelings  and  deportment  of  the  young  archduchess  : — "  She  is," 
says  Mr.  Robinson,  "  a  princess  of  the  highest  spirit;  her 
father's  losses  are  her  own.  She  reasons  already ;  she  enters 
into  affairs  ;  she  admires  his  virtues,  but  condemns  his  misman- 
agement ;  and  is  of  a  temper  so  formed  for  rule  and  ambition, 
as  to  look  upon  him  as  little  more  than  her  administrator. 
Notwithstanding  this  lofty  humor,  she  sighs  and  pines  for  her 
Duke  of  Lorraine.  If  she  sleeps,  it  is  only  to  dream  of  him — 
if  she  wakes,  it  is  but  to  talk  of  him  to  the  lady  in  waiting ;  so 
that  there  is  no  more  probability  of  her  forgetting  the  very  in- 
dividual government  and  the  very  individual  husband  which  she 
thinks  herself  born  to,  than  of  her  forgiving  the  authors  of  her 
losing  either." 

Charles  VI.,  distracted  and  perplexed  by  the  difficulties  of 
his  situation,  by  the  passionate  grief  of  his  daughter,  by  the  re- 
monstrances of  his  wife  and  the  rest  of  his  family,  and  without 
spirit,  or  abilities,  or  confidence  in  himself  or  others,  became  a 
pitiable  object.  .  During  the  day,  and  while  transacting  business 

»  Mr.  Robinson,  afterward  the  first  Lord  Grantham  of  his  family. 


266  MARIA      THERESA. 

with  his  ministers,  he  maintained  his  accustomed  dignity  and 
formality  ;  but  in  the  dead  of  the  night,  in  the  retirement  of  his 
own  chamber,  and  when  alone  with  the  empress,  he  gave  way 
to  such  paroxysms  of  affliction,  that  not  his  health  only,  but  his 
life  was  endangered,  and  his  reason  began  to  give  way.  A 
peace  with  France  had  become  necessary  on  any  terms,  and 
almost  at  any  sacrifice  ;  and  a  secret  negotiation  was  com- 
menced with  Cardinal  Fleury,  then  at  the  head  of  the  French 
government,  under  (or,  more  properly  speaking,  over)  Louis  the 
Fifteenth.  By  one  of  the  principal  articles  of  this  treaty,  the 
Duchy  of  Lorraine  was  to  be  given  up  to  France,  and  annexed 
to  that  kingdom  ;  and  the  Duke  of  Lorraine  was  to  receive,  in 
lieu  of  his  hereditary  possessions,  the  whole  of  Tuscany.  The 
last  Grand  Duke  of  Tuscany  of  the  family  of  the  Medici,  the 
feeble  and  degenerate  Cosmo  III.,  was  still  alive,  but  in  a  state 
of  absolute  dotage,  and  the  claims  of  his  heiress,  Anna  de' 
Medici,  were  to  be  set  aside.  Neither  the  inhabitants  of  Lor- 
raine nor  the  people  of  Tuscany  were  consulted  in  this  arbitrary 
exchange.  A  few  diplomatic  notes  between  Charles's  secretary 
Bartenstein  and  the  crafty  old  cardinal,  settled  the  matter.  It 
was  in  vain  that  the  government  of  Tuscany  remonstrated,  and 
in  vain  that  Francis  of  Lorraine  overwhelmed  the  Austrian 
ministers  with  reproaches,  and  resisted,  as  far  as  he  was  able, 
this  impudent  transfer  of  his  own  people  and  dominions  to  a 
foreign  power.  Bartenstein  had  the  insolence  to  say  to  him, 
"  Monseigneur,  point  de  cession,  point  d'archiduchesse." 

Putting  love  out  of  the  question,  Francis  could  not  determine 
to  stake  his  little  inheritance  against  the  brilliant  succession 
which  awaited  him  with  Maria  Theresa.  The  alternative,  how- 
ever, threw  him  into  such  agony  and  distress  of  mind,  that  even 
his  health  was  seriously  affected.  But  peace  was  necessary  to 


MARIA     THERESA.  267 

the  interests,  and  even  to  the  preservation  of  the  empire. 
Lorraine  was  given  up,  and  the  reversion  of  the  grand- 
duchy  of  Tuscany  settled  upon  Francis.*  The  preliminaries 
of  this  treaty  being  signed  in  1735,  the  emperor  was  re- 
lieved from  impending  ruin,  and  his  daughter  from  all  her 
apprehensions  of  the  Prince  of  Spain ;  and,  no  further  obsta- 
cles intervening,  the  nuptials  of  Maria  Theresa  and  Francis 
of  Lorraine  were  celebrated  at  Vienna  in  February,  1736. 
By  the  marriage  contract  the  Pragmatic  Sanction  was  again 
signed  and  ratified,  and  the  Duke  of  Lorraine  solemnly  bound 
himself  never  to  assert  any  personal  right  to  the  Austrian 
dominions.  The  two  great  families  of  Hapsburgh  and  Lor- 
raine, descended  from  a  common  ancestor,  were  by  this  mar- 
riage re-united  in  the  same  stock. 

Prince  Eugene,  who  had  commanded  the  imperial  armies  for 
nearly  forty  years,  died  a  few  days  after  the  marriage  of  Maria 
Theresa,  at  the  age  of  seventy-three.  His  death  was  one  of  the 
greatest  misfortunes  that  could  have  occurred  at  this  period, 
both  to  the  emperor  and  the  nation. 

A  young  princess,  beautiful  and  amiable,  the  heiress  of  one 
of  the  greatest  monarchies  in  Europe,  married  at  the  age  of 
eighteen  to  the  man  whom  she  had  long  and  deeply  loved,  and 
who  returned  her  affection,  and  soon  the  happy  mother  of  two 
fair  infants,  presents  to  the  imagination  as  pretty  a  picture  of 
splendor  and  felicity  as  ever  was  exhibited  in  romance  or  fairy 
tale  ;  but  when  we  turn  over  the  pages  of  history,  or  look  into 
real  life,  everywhere  we  behold  the  hand  of  a  just  Providence 
equalizing  the  destiny  of  mortals. 

During  the  four  years  which  elapsed  between  Maria  Theresa's 

*  Tuscany  has  ever  since  remained  in  the  family  of  Lorraine ;  the  present 
Grand-duke  Leopold  II.  is  the  great-grandson  of  Francis 


268  MARIA      THERESA. 

marriage  and  her  accession  to  the  throne,  her  life  was 
embittered  hy  anxieties  arising  out  of  her  political  position. 
Her  husband  was  appointed  generalissimo  of  the  imperial  armies 
against  the  Turks,  in  a  war  which  both  himself  and  Maria 
Theresa  disapproved.  He  left  her  in  the  first  year  of  their 
marriage,  to  take  the  command  of  the  army,  and  more  than  once 
too  rashly  exposed  his  life.  Francis  had  more  bravery  than 
military  skill.  He  was  baffled  and  hampered  in  his  designs  by 
the  weak  jealousy  of  the  emperor  and  the  cabals  of  the 
ministers  and  generals.  All  the  disasters  of  two  unfortunate 
campaigns  were  imputed  to  him,  and  he  returned  to  Vienna 
disgusted,  irritated,  sick  at  heart,  and  suffering  from  illness. 
The  court  looked  coldly  on  him ;  he  was  unpopular  with  the 
nation  and  with  the  soldiery ;  but  his  wife  received  him  with 
open  arms,  and,  with  a  true  woman's  tenderness,  "  loved  him 
•for  the  dangers  he  had  passed."  She  nursed  him  into  health, 
she  consoled  him,  she  took  part  in  all  his  wrongs  and  feelings, 
and  was  content  to  share  with  him  the  frowns  of  her  father  and 
the  popular  dislike.  They  were  soon  afterward  sent  into  a  kind 
of  honorable  exile  into  Tuscany,  under  pretence  of  going  to 
take  possession  of  their  new  dominions,  and  in  their  absence  it 
was  publicly  reported  that  the  emperor  intended  to  give  his 
second  daughter  to  the  Elector  of  Bavaria,  to  change  the  order 
of  succession  in  her  favor,  and  disinherit  Maria  Theresa.  The 
archduchess  and  her  husband  were  more  annoyed  than  alarmed 
by  these  reports,  but  their  sojourn  at  Florence  was  a  period  of 
constant  and  cruel  anxiety. 

Maria  Theresa  had  no  sympathies  with  her  Italian  sub- 
jects ;  she  had  no  poetical  or  patriotic  associations  to  render 
the  "  fair  white  walls  of  Florence"  and  its  olive  and  vine- 
covered  hills  interesting  or  dear  to  her ;  she  disliked  the 


MARIA      THERESA.  269 

heat  of  the  climate  ;  she  wished  herself  at  Vienna,  whence 
every  post  brought  some  fresh  instance  of  her  father's  mis- 
government,  some  new  tidings  of  defeat  or  disgrace.  She 
mourned  over  the  degradation  of  her  house,  and  saw  her  mag- 
nificent and  far-descended  heritage  crumbling  away  from  her. 
The  imbecile  emperor,  without  confidence  in  his  generals,  his 
ministers,  his  family,  or  himself,  exclaimed,  in  an  agony,  "  Is 
then  the  fortune  of  my  empire  departed  with  Eugene  ?" 
and  he  lamented  hourly  the  absence  of  Maria  Theresa,  in 
whose  strength  of  mind  he  had  ever  found  support  when  his 
pride  and  jealousy  allowed  him  to  seek  it.  The  archduchess 
and  her  husband  returned  to  Vienna  in  1739,  and  soon  after- 
ward the  disastrous  war  with  the  Turks  was  terminated  by  a 
precipitate  and  dishonorable  treaty,  by  which  Belgrade  was 
ceded  to  the  Ottoman  Porte.  The  situation  of  the  court  of 
Vienna  at  this  period  is  thus  described  by  the  English  minister, 
Robinson  : — "  Everything  in  this  court  is  running  into  the  last 
confusion  and  ruin,  where  there  are  as  visible  signs  of  folly  and 
madness  as  ever  were  inflicted  on  a  people  whom  Heaven  is 
determined  to  destroy,  no  less  by  domestic  divisions  than  by  the 
more  public  calamities  of  repeated  defeats,  defencelessness, 
poverty,  plague,  and  famine." 

Such  was  the  deplorable  state  in  which  Charles  bequeathed 
to  his  youthful  heiress  the  dominions  which  had  fallen  to  him 
prosperous,  powerful,  and  victorious,  only  thirty  years  before. 
The  agitation  of  his  mind  fevered  and  disordered  his  frame, 

O 

and  one  night,  after  eating  most  voraciously  of  a  favorite 
dish,*  he  was  seized  with  an  indigestion,  of  which  he  expired 
October  20th,  1740.  Maria  Theresa,  who  was  then  near  her 
confinement,  was  not  allowed  to  enter  her  father's  chamber. 

*  Mushrooms  stewed  in  oil. 


270  MARIA     THERESA. 

We  are  told  that  the  grief  she  felt  on  hearing  of  his  dissolu- 
tion endangered  her  life  for  a  few  hours,  but  that  the  following 
day  she  was  sufficiently  recovered  to  give  audienee  to  the 
ministers. 

Maria  Theresa  was  in  her  twenty-fourth  year  when  she 
became  in  her  own  right  Queen  of  Hungary  and  Bohemia, 
Archduchess  of  Austria,  Sovereign  of  the  Netherlands,  and 
Duchess  of  Milan,  of  Parma,  and  Placentia  ;  in  right  of  her 
husband  she  was  also  Grand-duchess  of  Tuscany.  Naples  and 
Sicily  had  indeed  been  wrested  from  her  father,  but  she  pre- 
tended to  the  right  of  those  crowns,  and  long  entertained  the 
hope  and  design  of  recovering  them.  She  reigned  over  some 
of  the  finest  and  fairest  provinces  of  Europe  ;  over  many  na- 
tions speaking  many  different  languages,  governed  by  different 
laws,  divided  by  mutual  antipathies,  and  held  together  by  no 
common  link  except  that  of  acknowledging  the  same  sovereign. 
That  sovereign  was  now  a  young  inexperienced  woman,  who 
had  solemnly  sworn  to  preserve  inviolate  and  indivisible  the  vast 
and  heterogeneous  empire  transmitted  to  her  feeble  hand,  as  if 
it  had  depended  on  her  will  to  do  so.  Within  the  first  few 
months  of  her  reign  the  Pragmatic  Sanction,  so  frequently 
guarantied  was  trampled  under  foot.  France  deferred,  and  at 
length  declined  to  acknowledge  her  title.  The  Elector  of  Ba- 
varia, supported  by  France,  laid  claim  to  Austria,  Hungary, 
and  Bohemia.  The  King  of  Spain  also  laid  claim  to  the  Aus- 
trian succession,  and  prepared  to  seize  on  the  Italian  states ; 
the  king  of  Sardinia  claimed  Milan  ;  the  King  of  Prussia,  not 
satisfied  with  merely  advancing  pretensions,  pounced  like  a 
falcon  on  his  prey, — 

Spiegato  il  crude  sanguinoso  artiglio, — 


MARIA     THERESA.  271 

and  seized  upon  the  whole  duchy  of  Silesia,  which  he  laid  waste 
and  occupied  with  his  armies.* 

Like  the  hind  of  the  forest  when  the  hunters  are  abroad, 
who  hears  on  every  side  the  fierce  baying  of  the  hounds,  and 
stands  and  gazes  round  with  dilated  eye  and  head  erect,  not 
knowing  on  which  side  the  fury  of  the  chase  is  to  burst  upon 
her — so  stood  the  lovely  majesty  of  Austria,  defenceless,  and 
trembling  for  her  very  existence,  but  not  weak,  nor  irresolute, 
nor  despairing. 

Maria  Theresa  was  by  no  means  an  extraordinary  woman. 
In  talents  and  strength  of  character  she  was  inferior  to  Cathe- 
rine of  Russia  and  Elizabeth  of  England,  but  in  moral  qualities 
far  superior  to  either  ;  and  it  may  be  questioned  whether  the 
brilliant  genius  of  the  former,  or  the  worldly  wisdom  and  saga- 
city of  the  latter,  could  have  done  more  to  sustain  a  sinking 
throne,  than  the  popular  and  feminine  virtues,  the  magnanimous 
spirit,  and  unbending  fortitude  of  Maria  Theresa.  She  had 
something  of  the  inflexible  pride  and  hereditary  obstinacy  of  her 
family ;  her  understanding,  naturally  good,  had  been  early 
tinged  with  bigotry  and  narrowed  by  illiberal  prejudices  ;  but 
in  her  early  youth  these  qualities  only  showed  on  the  fairer  side, 
and  served  but  to  impart  something  fixed  and  serious  to  the  vi- 
vacity of  her  disposition  and  the  yielding  tenderness  of  her  heart. 
She  had  all  the  self-will  and  all  the  sensibility  of  her  sex  ;  she 
was  full  of  kindly  impulses  and  good  intentions  ;  she  was  not , 
naturally  ambitious,  though  circumstances  afterward  developed 
that  passion  in  a  strong  degree  ;  she  could  be  roused  to  temper, 

*  The  French  government  had  secretly  matured  a  plan  of  partition,  by  which  the 
inheritance  of  Maria  Theresa  was  to  have  been  divided  among  the  difl'erent  claim- 
ants in  the  following  manner  :— Bohemia  and  Upper  Austria  were  assigned  to  the 
Elector  of  Bavaria  ;  Moravia  and  Upper  Silesia  to  the  Elector  of  Saxony  ;  Lower 
Silesia  to  the  King  of  Prussia  ;  and  Lombard)-  to  the  King  of  Spain. 


272  MARIA     THERESA. 

but  this  was  seldom,  and  never  so  far  as  to  forget  the  dignity 
and  propriety  of  her  sex.  It  should  be  mentioned,  (for  in  the 
situation  in  which  she  was  placed  is  was  by  no  means  an  unim- 
portant advantage,)  that  at  this  period  of  her  life  few  women 
could  have  excelled  Maria  Theresa  in  personal  attractions. 
Her  figure  was  tall,  and  formed  with  perfect  elegance  ;  her  de- 
portment at  once  graceful  and  majestic  ;  her  features  were 
regular  ;  her  eyes  were  gray,  and  full  of  lustre  and  expression  ; 
she  had  the  full  Austrian  lips,  but  her  mouth  and  smile  were 
beautiful ;  her  complexion  was  transparent ;  she  had  a  profusion 
of  fine  hair  ;  and,  to  complete  her  charms,  the  tone  of  her 
voice  was  peculiarly  soft  and  sweet.  Her  strict  religious  princi- 
ples, or  her  early  and  excessive  love  for  her  husband,  or  the 
pride  of  her  royal  station,  or  perhaps  all  these  combined,  had 
preserved  her  character  from  coquetry.  She  was  not  uncon- 
scious of  her  powers  of  captivation,  but  she  used  them,  not  as 
a  woman,  but  as  a  queen — not  to  win  lovers,  but  to  gain  over 
refractory  subjects.  The  "  fascinating  manner"  which  the  his- 
torian records,  and  for  which  she  was  so  much  admired,  became 
later  in  life  rather  too  courtly  and  too  artificial ;  but  at  four- 
and-twenty  it  was  the  result  of  kind  feeling,  natural  grace,  and 
youthful  gayety. 

The  perils  which  surrounded  Maria  Theresa  at  her  accession 
were  such  as  would  have  appalled  the  strongest  mind.  She  was 
not  only  encompassed  by  enemies  without,  but  threatened  with 
commotions  within.  She  was  without  an  army,  without  a  trea- 
sury, and,  in  point  of  fact,  without  a  ministry — for  never  was 
such  a  set  of  imbecile  men  collected  together  to  direct  the 
government  of  a  kindom,  as  those  who  composed  the  conference 
or  state-council  of  Vienna,  during  this  period.  They  agreed 
but  in  one  thing — in  jealousy  of  the  duke  of  Lorraine,  whom 


MARIA     THERESA.  273 

they  considered  as  a  foreigner,  and  who  was  content  perforce  to 
remain  a  mere  cipher. 

Maria  Theresa  began  her  reign  by  committing  a  mistake,  very 
excusable  at  her  age.  Her  father's  confidential  minister,  Bar- 
tenstein,  continued  to  direct  the  Government,  though  he  had 
neither  talents  nor  resources  to  meet  the  fearful  exigencies  in 
which  they  were  placed.  The  young  queen  had  sufficient  sense 
to  penetrate  the  characters  of  Sinzendorf  and  Staremberg  ;  she 
had  been  disgusted  by  their  attempts  to  take  advantage  of  her 
sex  and  age,  and  to  assume  the  whole  power  to  themselves. 
She  wished  for  instruction,  but  she  was  of  a  temper  to  resist  any 
thing  like  dictation.  Bartenstein  discovered  her  foible  ;  and  by 
his  affected  submission  to  her  judgment,  and  admiration  of  her 
abilities,  he  conciliated  her  good  opinion.  His  knowledge  of  the 
forms  of  business,  which  extricated  her  out  of  many  little  em- 
barrassments, she  mistook  for  political  sagacity — his  presumption 
for  genius ;  his  volubility,  his  readiness  with  his  pen,  all  con- 
spired to  dazzle  the  understanding  and  win  the  confidence  of  an 
inexperienced  woman.  It  is  generally  allowed  that  he  was  a" 
weak  and  superficial  man ;  but  he  possessed  two  good  qualities 
— he  was  sincerely  attached  to  the  interests  of  the  house  of  Aus- 
tria, and,  as  a  minister,  incorruptible." 

In  her  husband  Maria  Theresa  found  ever  a  faithful  friend, 
and  comfort  and  sympathy,  when  she  most  needed  them  ;  but 
hardly  advice,  support,  or  aid.  Francis  was  the  soul  of  honor 
and  affection,  but  he  was  illiterate,  fond  of  pleasure,  and  unused 
to  business.  Much  as  his  wife  loved  him,  she  either  loved  power 
more,  or  was  conscious  of  his  inability  to  yield  it.  Had  he  been 
an  artful  or  ambitious  man,  Francis  might  easily  have  obtained 
over  the  mind  of  Maria  Theresa  that  unbounded  influence  which 
a  man  of  sense  can  always  exercise  over  an  affectionate  woman ; 


274  MARIA      THERESA. 

but,  humbled  by  her  superiority  of  rank,  and  awed  by  her  supe- 
riority of  mind,  he  never  made  the  slightest  attempt  to  guide  or 
control  her,  and  was  satisfied  to  hold  all  he  possessed  from  her 
love  or  from  her  power. 

The  first  war  in  which  Maria  Theresa  was  engaged  was  began 
in  self-defence — never  was  the  sword  drawn  in  a  fairer  quarrel 
or  a  juster  cause.  Her  great  adversary  was  Frederick  II.  of 
Prussia,  aided  by  France  and  Bavaria.  On  the  side  of  the 
young  queen  were  England  and  Holland.  Nothing  could  exceed 
the  enthusiasm  which  her  helpless  situation  had  excited  among 
the  English  of  all  ranks  :  The  queen  of  Hungary  was  a  favorite 
toast — her  head  a  favorite  sign.  The  parliament  voted  large 
subsidies  to  support  her,  and  the  ladies  of  England,  with  the 
old  Duchess  of  Maryborough  at  their  head,  subscribed  a  sum  of 
£1 00,000,  which  they  offered  to  her  acceptance.  Maria  The- 
resa, who  had  been  so  munificently  aided  by  the  king  and  par- 
liament, either  did  not  think  it  consistent  with  her  dignity  to 
accept  of  private  gifts,  or  from  some  other  reason,  declined  the 
proffered  contribution. 

The  war  of  the  Austrian  succession  lasted  nearly  eight  years. 
The  battles  and  the  sieges,  the  victories  and  defeats,  the  treaties 
made  and  broken,  the  strange  events  and  vicissitudes  which 
marked  its  course,  may  be  found  duly  chronicled  and  minutely 
detailed  in  histories  of  France,  England,  or  Germany.  It  is 
more  to  our  present  purpose  to  trace  the  influence  which  the 
character  of  Maria  Theresa  exercised  over  passing  events,  and 
their  reaction  on  the  fate,  feelings,  and  character  of  the  woman. 

Her  situation  in  the  commencement  of  the  war  appeared 
desperate.  Frederick  occupied  Silesia,  and  in  the  first  great 
battle  in  which  the  Austrians  and  Prussians  were  engaged,  (the 
battle  of  Molwitz),  the  former  were  entirely  defeated.  Still  the 


MARIA     THERESA.  275 

queen  refused  to  yield  up  Silesia,  at  which  price  she  might  have 
purchased  the  friendship  of  her  dangerous  enemy.  Indignant 
at  his  unprovoked  and  treacherous  aggression,  she  disdainfully 
refused  to  negotiate  while  he  had  a  regiment  in  Silesia,  and  re- 
jected all  attempts  to  mediate  between  them.  The  birth  of  her 
first  son,  the  archduke  Joseph,  in  the  midst  of  these  distresses, 
confirmed  her  resolution.  Maternal  tenderness  now  united  with 
her  family  pride  and  her  royal  spirit ;  and  to  alienate  voluntarily 
any  part  of  his  inheritance  appeared  not  only  humiliation,  but 
a  crime.  She  addressed  herself  to  all  the  powers  which  had 
guarantied  the  Pragmatic  Sanction,  and  were  therefore  bound 
to  support  her.  And  first  to  France  :  To  use  her  own  words — 
"  I  wrote,"  said  she,  "  to  Cardinal  Fleury ;  pressed  by  hard 
necessity,  I  descended  from  my  rojal  dignity,  and  wrote  to  him 
in  terms  which  would  have  softened  stones !"  But  the  old  car- 
dinal was  absolute  flint.  From  age  and  long  habit,  he  had 
become  a  kind  of  political  machine,  actuated  by  no  other  princi- 
ple than  the  interests  of  his  government ;  he  deceived  the  queen 
with  delusive  promises  and  diplomatic  delays  till  all  was  ready ; 
then  the  French  armies  poured  across  the  Khine,  and  joined 
the  Elector  of  Bavaria.  They  advanced  in  concert  within  a 
few  leagues  of  Vienna.  The  elector  was  declared  Duke  of 
Austria ;  and,  having  overrun  Bohemia,  he  invested  the  city  of 
Prague. 

The  young  queen,  still  weak  from  her  recent  confinement, 
and  threatened  in  her  capital,  looked  round  her  in  vain  for  aid 
and  counsel.  Her  allies  had  not  yet  sent  her  the  promised 
assistance  ;  her  most  sanguine  friends  drooped  in  despair ;  her 
ministers  looked  upon  each  other  in  blank  dismay.  At  this 
crisis  the  spirit  of  a  feeling  and  high-minded  woman  saved  her- 
self, her  capital,  and  her  kingdom.  Maria  Theresa  took  alone 


276  MARIA     THERESA. 

the  resolution  of  throwing  herself  into  the  arms  of  her  Hunga- 
rian subjects. 

Who  has  not  read  of  the  scene  which  ensued,  which  has  so 
often  been  related,  so  often  described  ?  and  yet  we  all  feel  that 
we  cannot  hear  of  it  too  often.  When  we  first  meet  it  on  the 
page  of  history,  we  are  taken  by  surprise,  as  though  it  had  no 
business  there  ;  it  has  the  glory  and  the  freshness  of  old  ro- 
mance. Poetry  never  invented  anything  half  so  striking,  or 
that  so  completely  fills  the  imagination. 

The  Hungarians  had  been  oppressed,  enslaved,  insulted,  by 
Maria  Theresa's  predecessors.  In  the  beginning  of  her  reign, 
she  had  abandoned  the  usurpations  of  her  ancestors,  and  had 
voluntarily  taken  the  oath  to  preserve  all  their  privileges  entire. 
This  was  partly  from  policy,  but  it  was  also  partly  from  her  own 
just  and  kind  nature.  The  hearts  of  the  Hungarians  were 
already  half-won  when  she  arrived  at  Presburg,  in  June,  1741. 
She  was  crowned  Queen  of  Hungary  on  the  13th,  with  the  pecu- 
liar national  ceremonies.  The  iron  crown  of  St.  Stephen  was 
placed  on  her  head,  the  tattered  but  sacred  robe  thrown  over 
her  own  rich  habit,  which  was  incrusted  with  gems,  his  scimitar 
girded  to  her  side.  Thus  attired,  and  mounted  upon  a  superb 
charger,  she  rode  up  the  Royal  Mount,*  and  according  to  the 
antique  custom,  drew  her  sabre,  and  defied  the  four  quarters  of 
the  world,  "  in  a  manner  that  showed  she  had  no"  occasion  for 
that  weapon  to  conquer  all  who  saw  her."|  The  crown  of  St. 
Stephen,  which  had  never  before  been  placed  on  so  small  or  so 
lovely  a  head,  had  been  lined  with  cushions  to  make  it  fit.  It 
was  also  very  heavy,  and  its  weight,  added  to  the  heat  of  the 
weather,  incommoded  her  ;  when  she  sat  down  to  dinner  in  the 

*  A  rising  ground  near  Presburg,  so  called  from  being  consecrated  to  this  cere- 
mony, f  Mr.  Robinson's  Dispatches. 


MARIA     THERESA.  277 

great  hall  of  the  castle,  she  expressed  a  wish  to  lay  it  aside. 
On  lifting  the  diadem  from  her  brow,  her  hair,  loosened  from 
confinement,  fell  down  in  luxuriant  ringlets  over  her  neck  and 
shoulders ;  the  glow  which  the  heat  and  emotion  had  diffused 
over  her  complexion  added  to  her  natural  beauty,  and  the  as- 
sembled nobles,  struck  with  admiration,  could  scarce  forbear 
from  shouting  their  applause. 

The  effect  which  her  youthful  grace  and  loveliness  produced 
on  this  occasion  had  not  yet  subsided  when  she  called  together 
the  Diet,  or  Senate  of  Hungary,  in  order  to  lay  before  them 
the  situation  of  her  affairs.  She  entered  the  hall  of  the  castle, 
habited  in  the  Hungarian  costume,  but  still  in  deep  mourning 
for  her  father ;  she  traversed  the  apartment  with  a  slow  and 
majestic  step,  and  ascended  the  throne,  where  she  stood  for  a  few 
minutes  silent.  The  chancellor  of  the  state  first  explained  the 
situation  to  which  she  was  reduced,  and  then  the  queen,  coming 
forward,  addressed  the  assembly  in  Latin,  a  language  which 
she  spoke  fluently,  and  which  is  still  in  common  use  among  the 
Hungarians. 

"  The  disastrous  state  of  our  affairs,"  said  she,  "  has  moved 
us  to  lay  before  our  dear  and  faithful  states  of  Hungary  the 
recent  invasion  of  Austria,  the  danger  now  impending  over  this 
kingdom,  and  propose  to  them  the  consideration  of  a  remedy. 
The  very  existence  of  the  kingdom  of  Hungary,  of  our  own 
person,  of  our  children,  of  our  crown,  are  now  at  stake,  and, 
forsaken  by  all,  we  place  our  sole  hope  in  the  fidelity,  arms, 
and  long-tried  valor  of  the  Hungarians!" 

She  pronounced  these  simple  words  in  a  firm  but  melancholy 
tone.  Her  beauty,  her  magnanimity,  and  her  distress,  roused 
the  Hungarian  chiefs  to  the  wildest  enthusiasm ;  they  drew 
their  sabres  half  out  of  the  scabbard,  then  flung  them  back  to 


278  MARIA     THERESA. 

the  hilt  with  a  martial  sound,  which  re-echoed  through  the  lofty 
hall,  and  exclaimed  with  one  accord,  "  Our  swords  and  our 
blood  for  your  majesty — we  will  die  for  our  king,  Maria 
Theresa!"  Overcome  by  sudden  emotion,  she  burst  into  a 
flood  of  tears.  At  this  sight,  the  nobles  became  almost  frantic 
with  enthusiasm.  "  We  wept  too,"  said  a  nobleman,  who  assisted 
on  this  occasion,  (Count  Koller)  ;  "but  they  were  tears  of  ad- 
miration, pity,  and  fury."  They  retired  from  her  presence, 
to  vote  supplies  of  men  and  money,  which  far  exceeded  all  her 
expectations. 

Two  or  three  days  after  this  extraordinary  scene,  the  deputies 
again  assembled,  to  receive  the  oath  of  Francis  of  Lorraine, 
who  had  been  appointed  co-regent  of  Hungary.  Francis,  having 
taken  the  required  oath,  waved  his  arm  over  his  head  and 
exclaimed  with  enthusiasm,  "  My  blood  and  life  for  the  queen 
and  kingdom  !"  It  was  on  this  occasion  that  Maria  Theresa 
took  up  her  infant  son  in  her  arms  and  presented  him  to  the 
deputies,  and  again  they  burst  into  the  acclamation,  "  We  will 
die  for  Maria  Theresa  and  her  children  !"* 

The  devoted  loyalty  of  her  Hungarian  subjects  changed  the 
aspect  of  her  affairs.  Tribes  of  wild  warriors  from  the  Turkish 
frontiers — Croats,  Pandours,  and  Sclavonians — never  before  seen 
in  the  wars  of  civilized  Europe,  crowded  round  her  standard, 
and  by  their  strange  appearance  and  savage  mode  of  warfare 
struck  terror  into  the  disciplined  soldiers  of  Germany.  Vienna 
was  placed  in  a  state  of  defence  ;  and  Frederick,  fallen  from  his 
"  pitch  of  pride,"  began  to  show  some  desire  for  an  accommo- 

*  September  21st,  1741.  The  Archduke  Joseph  was  then  about  six  months  old. 
It  was  not  when  Maria  Theresa  made  her  speech  to  the  Diet  on  the  13th,  that 
she  held  up  her  son  in  -her  arms  ;  for  it  appears  that  he  was  not  brought  to 
Presburg  till  the  20th.  "Voltaire,  whose  occount  is  generally  read  and  copied, 
is  true  in  the  main,  but  more  eloquent  than  accurate. 


MARIA     THERESA.  279 

dation.  At  length  a  truce  was  effected  by  the  mediation  of 
England ;  and  the  queen  consented,  with  deep  reluctance  and 
an  aching  heart,  to  give  up  a  part  of  Silesia,  as  a  sop  to  this 
royal  Cerberus.  Hard  necessity  compelled  her  to  this  concession ; 
for  while  she  was  defending  herself  against  the  Prussians  on  one 
side,  the  French  and  Bavarians  were  about  to  overwhelm  her 
on  the  other.  The  Elector  of  Bavaria  had  seized  on  Bohemia, 
and  was  crowned  King  of  Prague  ;  and  under  the  auspices  and 
influence  of  France,  he  was  soon  afterward  elected  Emperor  of 
Germany,  and  crowned  at  Frankfort  by  the  title  of  Charles  VII. 

It  had  been  the  favorite  object  of  Maria  Theresa  to  place 
the  imperial  crown  on  the  head  of  her  husband.  The  election 
of  Charles  was,  therefore,  a  deep  mortification  to  her,  and  deeply 
she  avenged  it.  Her  armies,  under  the  command  of  the  Duke 
of  Lorraine  and  General  Kevenhuller,  entered  Bavaria,  wasted 
the  hereditary  dominions  of  the  new  emperor  with  fire  and 
sword,  and  on  the  very  day  on  which  he  was  proclaimed  at 
Frankfort,  his  capital,  Munich,  surrendered  to  the  Austrians, 
and  the  Duke  of  Lorraine  entered  the  city  in  triumph.  Such 
were  the  strange  vicissitudes  of  war ! 

Within  a  few  months  afterward  the  French  were  everywhere 
beaten ;  they  were  obliged  to  evacuate  Prague,  and  accom- 
plished with  great  difficulty  their  retreat  to  Egra.  So  much 
was  the  queen's  mind  imbittered  against  them,  that  their  escape 
at  this  time  absolutely  threw  her  into  an  agony.  She  had, 
however,  sufficient  self-command  to  conceal  her  indignation  and 
disappointment  from  the  public,  and  celebrated  the  surrender 
of  Prague  by  a  magnificent  fete  at  Vienna.  Among  other 
entertainments  there  was  a  chariot-race,  in  imitation  of  the 
Greeks — in  which,  to  exhibit  the  triumph  of  her  sex,  ladies 
alone  were  permitted  to  contend,  and  the  queen  herself  and  her 


280  MARIA      THERESA. 

sister  entered  the  lists.  It  must  have  been  a  beautiful  and 
gallant  sight.  Soon  afterward  Maria  Theresa  proceeded  to 
Prague,  where  she  was  crowned  Queen  of  Bohemia,  May  12, 
1743. 

In  Italy  she  was  also  victorious.  Her  principal  opponent 
in  that  quarter  was  the  high-spirited  Elizabeth  Farnese,  the 
Queen  of  Spain.*  This  imperious  woman,  who  thought  she 
could  manage  a  war  as  she  managed  her  husband,  commanded 
her  general,  on  pain  of  instant  dismissal,  to  fight  the  Austrians 
within  three  days  ;  he  did  so,  and  was  defeated. 

At  the  close  of  this  eventful  year,  Maria  Theresa  had  the 
pleasure  of  uniting  her  sister  Marianna  to  Prince  Charles  of 
Lorraine,  her  husband's  brother.  They  had  been  long  attached 
to  each  other,  and  the  archduchess  was  beautiful  and  amiable ; 
but  a  union  which  promised  so  much  happiness  was  mournfully 
terminated  by  the  death  of  Mariauna,  within  a  few  months 
after  her  marriage. 

The  effect  produced  on  the  mind  of  Maria  Theresa,  by  these 
sudden  vicissitudes  of  fortune  'arid  extraordinary  successes,  was 
not  altogether  favorable.  She  had  met  dangers  with  fortitude — 
she  had.  endured  reverses  with  magnanimity ;  but  she  could 
not  triumph  with  moderation.  Sentiments  of  hatred,  of  ven- 
geance, of  ambition,  had  been  awakened  in  her  heart  by  the 
wrongs  of  her  enemies  and  her  own  successes.  She  indulged 
a  personal  animosity  against  the  Prussians  and  the  French, 
which  almost  shut  her  heart,  good  and  beneficent  as  Heaven 
had  formed  it,  against  humanity  and  the  love  of  peace.  She 
not  only  rejected  with  contempt  all  pacific  overtures,  and  re- 
fused to  acknowledge  the  new  emperor,  but  she  meditated  vast 

*  Third  wife  of  Philip  V.  Her  story  is  very  prettily  told  by  Madame  de  Genlis( 
in  "  La  Princesse  des  Ursins." 


MARIA      THERESA.  281 

schemes  of  conquest  and  retaliation.  She  not  only  resolved 
on  recovering  Silesia,  and  appropriating  Bavaria,  but  she  formed 
plans  for  crushing  her  great  enemy,  Frederick  of  Prussia,  and 
partitioning  his  dominions,  as  he  had  conspired  to  ravage  and 
dismember  hers. 

This  excess  of  elation  was  severely  chastised.  In  1744  she 
lost  Bavaria.  Frederick  suspected  and  anticipated  her  designs 
against  him  ;  with  his  usual  celerity  he  marched  into  Bohemia, 
besieged  and  captured  Prague,  and  made  even  Vienna  tremble. 
Maria  Theresa  had  one  trait  of  real  greatness  of  mind — she  was 
always  greatest  in  adversity.  She  again  had  recourse  to  her 
brave  Hungarians,  and  repairing  to  Presburg,  she  employed 
with  such  effect  her  powers  of  captivation,  that  she  made  e^ery 
man  who  approached  her  a  hero  for  her  sake.  The  old  pala- 
tine of  Hungary,  Count  Palffy,  unfurled  the  blood-red  standard 
of  the  kingdom,  and  called  on  the  magnates  to  summon  their 
vassals  and  defend  their  queen ;  44,000  crowded  round  the 
national  banner,  and  30,000  more  were  ready  to  take  the  field. 
Maria  Theresa,  who  knew  as  well  as  Mary  Stuart  herself,  the 
power  of  a  woman's  smile,  or  word,  or  gift,  bestowed  apropos, 
sent  to  Count  Palffy  on  this  occasion  her  own  charger,  royally 
caparisoned,  a  sabre  enriched  with  diamonds,  and  a  ring,  with 
these  few  words  in  her  own  hand-writing  : — 

"  Father  Palffy,  I  send  you  this  horse,  worthy  of  being 
mounted  by  none  but  the  most  zealous  of  my  faithful  subjects  ; 
receive  at  the  same  time  this  sword  to  defend  me  against  my 
enemies,  and  this  ring  as  a  mark  of  my  affection  for  you. 

"  MARIA  THERESA." 

The  enthusiasm  which  her  charms  and  her  address  excited  in 
Hungary,  from  the  proudest  palatine  to  the  meanest  peasant, 


282  MARIA     THERESA. 

again  saved  her.  In  the  following  year  Bohemia  and  Bavaria 
were  recovered ;  and  the  unfortunate  emperor,  Charles  the 
Seventh,  driven  from  all  his  possessions,  after  playing  for  a 
while  a  miserable  pageant  of  royalty  in  the  hands  of  the  French, 
died  almost  broken-hearted.  With  his  last  breath  he  exhorted 
his  successor  to  make  peace  with  Austria,  and  reject  the  impe- 
rial dignity  which  had  been  so  fatal  to  his  family.  The  new 
elector,  Maximilian  Joseph,  obeyed  these  last  commands,  and 
no  other  competitor  appearing,  Maria  Theresa  was  enabled  to 
fulfill  the  ambition  of  her  heart,  by  placing  th_e  imperial  diadem 
on  her  husband's  head.  Francis  was  proclaimed  Emperor  of 
Germany  at  Frankfort ;  and  the  queen,  who  witnessed  from  a 
balcony  the  ceremony  of  election,  was  the  first  who  exclaimed 
"  Vive  1'emperor  !"  From  this  time  Maria  Theresa,  uniting  in 
herself  the  titles  of  Empress  of  Germany  and  Queen  of  Hun- 
gary and  Bohemia,  is  styled  in  history,  the  empress-queen.  This 
accession  of  dignity  was  the  only  compensation  for  a  year  of 
disasters  and  losses  in  Italy  and  the  Netherlands.  Still  she 
would  not  submit,  nor  bend  her  high  spirit  to  an  accommodation 
with  Frederick  on  the  terms  he  offered  ;  and  still  she  rejected  all 
mediation.  At  length  the  native  generosity  of  her  disposition 
prevailed.  The  Elector  of  Saxony,*  who  had  been  for  some 
time  her  most  faithful  and  efficient  ally,  was  about  to  become  a 
sacrifice  through  his  devotion  to  her  cause,  and  only  peace  could 
save  him  and  his  people.  For  his  sake  the  queen  stooped  to 
what  she  never  would  have  submitted  to  for  any  advantage  to 
herself,  and  on  Christmas-day,  1745,  she  signed  the  peace  of 
Dresden,  by  which  she  finally  ceded  Silesia  to  Frederick,  who,  on 
this  condition,  withdrew  his  troops  from  Saxony,  and  acknow- 
ledged Francis  as  Emperor. 

*  Augustus  III. 


MARIA     THERESA.  383 

The  war  with  Louis  XV.  still  continued  with  various  changes 
of  fortune.  In  1746  she  lost  nearly  the  whole  of  the  Nether- 
lands. The  French  were  commanded  by  Marshal  Saxe,  the 
Austrians  by  Charles  of  Lorraine.  The  former  was  flushed 
with  high  spirits  and  repeated  victories.  The  unfortunate  Prince 
Charles  was  half-distracted  by  the  loss  of  his  wife — the  Arch- 
duchess Marianna  had  died  in  her  first  confinement;  and  her 
husband,  paralyzed  by  grief,  could  neither  act  himself,  nor  give 
the  necessary  orders  to  his  army. 

By  this  time  (1747)  all  the  sovereigns  of  Europe  began  to 
be  wearied  and  exhausted  by  this  sanguinary  and  burthensome 
war ;  all,  except  Maria  Theresa,  whose  pride,  wounded  by  the 
forced  cession  of  Silesia  and  the  reduction  of  her  territories  in 
the  Netherlands  and  in  Italy,  could  not  endure  to  leave  off  a 
loser  in  this  terrible  game  of  life.  It  is  rather  painful  to  see 
how  the  turmoils  and  vicissitudes  of  the  last  few  years,  the 
habits  of  government  and  diplomacy,  had  acted  on  a  disposition 
naturally  so  generous  and  so  just.  In  her  conference  with  the 
English  minister  she  fairly  got  into  a  passion,  exclaiming,  with 
the  utmost  indignation  and  disdain,  "  that  rather  than  agree  to 
the  terms  of  peace,  she  would  lose  her  head  " — raising  her  voice 
as  she  spoke,  and  suiting  the  gesture  to  the  words.  With  the 
same  warmth  she  had  formerly  declared,  that  before  she  would 
give  up  Silesia  she  would  sell  her  shift !  In  both  cases  she  was 
obliged  to  yield.  When  the  plenipotentiaries  of  the  various 
powers  of  Europe  met  at  Aix-la-Chapelle  in  1748,  her  ministers, 
acting  by  her  instructions,  threw  every  possible  difficulty  in  the 
way  of  the  pacification ;  and  when  at  length  she  was  obliged  to 
accede,  by  the  threat  of  her  allies  to  sign  without  her,  she  did  so 
with  obvious,  with  acknowledged  reluctance,  and  never  afterward 
forgave  England  for  having  extorted  her  consent  to  this  measure. 


284  MARIA     THERESA. 

The  peace  of  Aix-la-Chapelle,  which  was  one  of  the  great 
events  of  the  last  century,  was  signed  by  the  empress-queen  on 
the  23d  of  October,  1748.  "  Thus,"  says  the  historian  of 
Maria  Theresa,  "  terminated  a  bloody  and  extensive  war,  which 
at  the  commencement  threatened  the  very  existence  of  the 
house  of  Austria  ;  but  the  magnanimity  of  Maria  Theresa,  the 
zeal  of  her  subjects,  and  the  support  of  Great  Britain  triumphed 
over  her  numerous  enemies,  and  secured  an  honorable  peace. 
She  retained  possession  of  all  her  vast  inheritance  except  Silesia, 
Parma,  Placentia,  and  G-uastalla.  She  recovered  the  imperial 
dignity,  which  had  been  nearly  wrested  from  the  house  of  Aus- 
tria, and  obtained  the  guarantee  of  the  Pragmatic  Sanction  from 
the  principal  powers  of  Europe.  She  was,  however,  so  dissatis- 
fied, that  her  chagrin  broke  out  on  many  occasions,  and  on  none 
more  than  when  Mr.  Keith  requested  an  audience  to  offer  his 
congratulations  on  the  return  of  peace.  Maria  Theresa  ordered 
her  minister  to  observe  that  compliments  of  condolence  would 
be  more  proper  than  compliments  of  congratulation,  and  in- 
sinuated that  the  British  minister  would  oblige  the  empress  by 
sparing  a  conversation  which  would  be  highly  disagreeable  to 
her,  and  no  less  unpleasing  to  him.* 

Maria  Theresa  had  made  peace  with  reluctance.  She  was 
convinced — that  is,  she  felt — that  it  could  not  be  of  long  con- 
tinuance ;  but  for  the  present  she  submitted.  She  directed  her 
attention  to  the  internal  government  of  her  dominions,  and  she 
resolved  to  place  them  in  such  a  condition  that  she  need  not 
fear  war  whenever  it  was  her  interest  to  renew  it. 

She  began  by  intrusting  her  military  arrangements  to  the 
superintendence  of  Marshal  Daun,  one  of  the  greatest  generals 
of  that  time.  She  concerted  with  him  a  new  and  better  system 

'  History  of  the  House  of  Austria,  vol.  ii.,  p.  358. 


MARIA     THERESA.  285 

of  discipline  ;  and  was  the  first  who  instituted  a  military  academy 
at  Vienna.  She  maintained  a  standing  army  of  one  hundred 
and  eight  thousand  men  ;  she  visited  her  camps  and  garrisons, 
and  animated  her  troops  by  her  presence,  her  gracious  speeches, 
and  her  bounties.  Her  enemy,  Frederick,  tells  us  how  well  she 
understood  and  practiced  the  art  of  enhancing  the  value  of 
those  distinctions  -which,  however  trifling,  are  rendered  im- 
portant by  the  manner  of  bestowing  them.  He  acknowledges 
that  "  the  Austrian  army  acquired,  under  the  auspices  of  Maria 
Theresa,  such  a  degree  of  perfection  as  it  had  never  attained 
under  any  of  her  predecessors,  and  that  a  woman  accomplished 
designs  worthy  of  a  great  man." 

But  Maria  Theresa  accomplished  other  designs  far  more 
worthy  of  herself  and  of  her  sex.  She  made  some  admirable 
regulations  in  the  civil  government  of  her  kingdom  ;  she  cor- 
rected many  abuses  which  had  hitherto  existed  in  the  adminis- 
tration of  justice  ;  she  abolished  forever  the  use  of  torture 
throughout  her  dominions.  The  collection  of  the  revenues  was 
simplified  ;  the  great  number  of  tax-gatherers,  which  she  justly 
considered  as  an  engine  of  public  oppression,  was  diminished. 
Her  father  had  left  her  without  a  single  florin  in  the  treasury. 
In  1750,  after  eight  years  of  war  and  the  loss  of  several  states, 
her  revenues  exceeded  those  of  her  predecessors  by  six  millions. 
One  of  her  benevolent  projects  failed,  but  not  through  any  fault 
of  her  own.  She  conceived  the  idea  of  civilizing  the  numerous 
tribes  of  gipsies  in  Hungary  and  Bohemia  ;  but,  after  perse- 
vering for  years,  she  was  forced  to  abandon  the  design.  Neither 
bribes  nor  punishment,  neither  mildness  nor  severity  could  sub- 
due the  wild  spirit  of  freedom  in  these  tameless,  lawless  outcasts 
of  society,  or  bring  them  within  the  pale  of  civilization. 

All  the  new  laws  and  regulations,  the  changes  and  improve- 


286  MARIA     THERESA. 

ments  which  took  place,  emanated  from  Maria  Theresa  herself ; 
and  they  were  all  more  or  less  wisely  and  benevolently  planned, 
and  beneficial  in  their  effect.  We  trace  in  Maria  Theresa's 
public  conduct  two  principles — a  regard  for  the  honor  of  her 
house,  that  is,  her  royal  and  family  pride,  and  a  love  for  her 
people  ;  but,  from  the  prejudices  in  which  she  had  been  edu- 
cated, it  frequently  happened  that  the  latter  consideration  was 
sacrificed  to  the  former.  What  she  designed  and  performed  for 
the  good  of  her  subjects  was  done  quietly  and  effectually  ;  and 
what  she  wanted  in  genius  was  supplied  by  perseverance  and 
good  sense.  Though  peremptory  in  temper,  jealous  of  her 
authority,  and  resisting  the  slightest  attempt  to  lead  or  control 
her,  Maria  Theresa  had  no  overweening  confidence  in  her  own 
abilities.  She  was  at  first  almost  painfully  sensible  of  the  de- 
ficiencies of  her  education  and  of  her  own  inexperience.  She 
eagerly  sought  advice  and  information,  and  gladly  and  gratefully 
accepted  it  from  all  persons  ;  and  on  every  occasion  she  listened 
patiently  to  long  and  contradictory  explanations.  She  read 
memorials  and  counter  memorials,  voluminous,  immeasurable, 
perplexing.  She  was  not  satisfied  with  knowing  or  comprehend- 
ing everything ;  she  was,  perhaps,  a  little  too  anxious  to  do 
everything,  see  everything,  manage  everything  herself.  While 
in  possession  of  health  and  strength  she  always  rose  at  five  in 
the  morning,  and  often  devoted  ten  or  twelve  hours  together  to 
the  dispatch  of  business  ;  and,  with  all  this  close  application  to 
affairs,  she  found  time  to  enter  into  society,  to  mingle  in  the 
amusements  of  her  court,  and  to  be  the  mother  of  sixteen 
children. 

In  her  plans  and  wishes  for  the  public  good  Maria  Theresa 
had  the  sympathy,  if  not  the  co-operation,  of  her  husband  ;  but 
she  derived  little  or  no  aid  from  the  ministry,  or,  as  it  was 


MARIA      THERESA.  287 

termed,  the  conference,  which  was  at  this  time  (after  the  con- 
clusion of  the  first  war,)  more  inefficient  than  even  at  the  period 
of  her  accession.  She  had  gradually  become  sensible  of  the  in- 
capacity and  presumption  of  Bartenstein  ;  and,  as  he  declined 
in  favor  and  confidence,  Count  (afterward  Prince)  Kaunitz  rose 
in  her  estimation.  Kaunitz  was  ten  years  older  than  the  em- 
press. He  had  spent  nearly  his  whole  life  in  political  affairs, 
rising  from  one  grade  to  another,  through  all  the  subaltern 
offices  of  the  state.  He  had  been  her  minister  at  Aix-la- 
Chapelle  in  1748  ;  in  1753  he  was  appointed  chancellor  of 
state — in  other  wdrds,  prime  minister — and  from  this  time  ruled 
the  councils  of  the  empress-queen  to  the  day  of  her  death,  a 
period  of  nearly  thirty  years.  Frederick  of  Prussia  describes 
Kaunitz  as  "  un  homme  frivole  dans  ses  gouts,  profond  dans 
les  affaires."  From  the  descriptions  of  those  who  knew  him 
personally,  he  appears  to  have  been  a  man  of  very  extraordinary 
talents,  without  any  elevation  of  character  ;  a  finical  eccentric 
coxcomb  in  his  manners  ;  a  bold,  subtle,  able  statesman  ;  in- 
ordinately vain,  and,  as  his  power  increased,  insolent  and  over- 
bearing ;  yet  indefatigable  in  business,  and  incorruptible  in  his 
fidelity  to  the  interests  of  his  sovereign. 

Eight  years  of  almost  profound  peace  had  now  elapsed,  and 
Maria  Theresa  was  neither  sensible  of  the  value  of  the  blessing, 
nor  reconciled  to  the  terms  on  which  she  had  purchased  it. 
While  Frederick  existed — Frederick,  who  had  injured,  braved, 
and  humbled  her — she  was  ready  to  exclaim,  like  Constance, 
"  War  !  war  ! — no  peace  !  Peace  is  to  me  a  war  !"  In  vain  was 
she  happy  in  her  family,  and  literally  adored  by  her  subjects ; 
she  was  not  happy  in  herself.  In  her  secret  soul  she  nourished 
an  implacable  resentment  against  the  King  of  Prussia  ;  in  the 
privacy  of  her  cabinet  she  revolved  the  means  of  his  destruc- 


288  MARIA      THERESA. 

tion.  The  loss  of  Silesia  was  still  nearest  her  heart,  and  she 
never  could  think  of  it  but  with  shame  and  anguish.  Mingling 
the  imagination  and  sensibility  of  a  woman  with  the  wounded 
pride  of  a  sovereign,  she  never  could  hear  the  word  "  Silesia  " 
without  a  blush — never  turned  her  eyes  on  the  map,  where  it 
was  delineated  as  part  of  her  territories,  without  visible  emotion, 
and  never  beheld  a  native  of  that  district  without  bursting  into 
tears.  She  might  have  said  of  Silesia,  as  Mary  of  England  said 
of  Calais,  that  it  would  be  found  after  death  engraven  on  her 
heart.  There  were  other  circumstances  which  added  to  the 
bitterness  of  her  resentment :  Frederick,  who,  if  not  the  most 
detestable,  was  certainly  the  most  disagreeable  monarch  ever 
recorded  in  history,  had  indulged  in  coarse  and  cruel  sarcasms 
against  the  empress  and  her  husband  ;  they  were  repeated  to 
her  ;  they  were  such  as  equally  insulted  her  delicacy  as  a  woman 
and  her  feelings  as  a  wife  ;  and  they  sank  deeper  into  her  femi- 
nine mind  than  more  real  and  more  serious  injuries.  All  Maria 
Theresa's  passions,  whether  of  love,  grief,  or  resentment,  par- 
took of  the  hereditary  obstinacy  of  her  disposition.  She  could 
not  bandy  wit  with  her  enemy — it  was  not  in  her  nature  ;  but 
hatred  filled  her  heart,  and  projects  of  vengeance  occupied  all 
her  thoughts.  She  looked  round  her  for  the  means  to  realize 
them  ;  there  was  no  way  but  by  an  alliance  with  France — with 
France,  the  hereditary  enemy  of  her  family  and  her  country  ! — 
with  France,  separated  from  Austria  by  three  centuries  of  mu- 
tual injuries  and  almost  constant  hostility.  The  smaller  states 
of  Europe  had  long  regarded  their  own  safety  as  depending,  in 
a  great  measure,  on  the  mutual  enmity  and  jealousy  of  these 
two  great  central  powers  ;  a  gulf  seemed  forever  to  divide  them  ; 
but,  instigated  by  the  spirit  of  vengeance,  Maria  Theresa  de- 
termined to  leap  that  gulf. 


MARIA      THERESA.  289 

Her  plan  was  considered,  matured,  and  executed  in  the 
profoundest  secresy ;  even  her  husband  was  kept  in  perfect 
ignorance  of  her  designs.  She  was  not  of  a  temper  to  fear  his 
opposition,  but  her  strong  affection  for  him  made  her  shrink 
from  his  disapprobation.  Prince  Kaunitz  was  her  only  coadju- 
tor ;  he  alone  was  intrusted  with  this  most  delicate  and  intricate 
negotiation,  which  lasted  nearly  two  years.  It  was  found  neces- 
sary to  conciliate  Madame  de  Pompadour,  the  mistress  of  Louis 
XV.,  who  was  at  that  time  all-powerful.  Kaunitz,  in  suggest- 
ing the  expediency  of  this  condescension,  thought  it  necessary 
to  make  some  apology.  The  empress  merely  answered,  "  Have 
I  not  flattered  Farinelli  ?"*  and,  taking  up  her  pen,  without 
further  hesitation,  this  descendant  of  a  hundred  kings  and 
emperors — the  pious,  chaste,  and  proud  Maria  Theresa — ad- 
dressed the  low-born  profligate  favorite  as  "  ma  chere  amie," 
and  "ma  cousine."  The  step  was  sufficiently  degrading,  but 
it  answered  its  purpose.  The  Pompadour  was  won  to  the 
Austrian  interest ;  and  through  her  influence  this  extraordinary 
alliance  was  finally  arranged,  in  opposition  to  the  policy  of  both 
courts,  and  the  real  interests  and  inveterate  prejudices  of  both 
nations. 

When  this  treaty  was  first  divulged  in  the  council  of  Vienna, 
the  Emperor  Francis  was  so  utterly  shocked  and  confounded, 
that,  striking  the  table  with  his  hand,  he  vowed  he  would 
never  consent  to  it,  and  left  the  room.  Maria  Theresa  was 
prepared  for  this  burst  of  indignation  ;  she  affected,  with  that 
duplicity  in  which  she  had  lately  become  an  adept,  to  attribute 
the  whole  scheme  to  her  minister,  and  to  be  as  much  astonished 
as  Francis  himself.  But  she  represented  the  necessity  of  hear- 

»  She  had  sent  compliments  and  presents  to  the  singer  Farinelli,  when  he  wag  a 
favorite  in  the  Spanish  court. 


290  MARIA     THERESA. 

ing  and  considering  the  whole  of  this  new  plan  of  policy  before 
they  decided  against  it.  With  a  mixture  of  artifice,  reason  and 
tenderness,  she  gradually  soothed  the  facile  mind  of  her  hus- 
band, and  converted  him  to  her  own  opinion,  or  at  least  con- 
vinced him  that  it  was  in  vain  to  oppose  it.  When  the  report 
of  a  coalition  between  Austria  and  France  was  spread  through 
Europe,  it  was  regarded  as  something  portentous.  In  England 
it  was  deemed  incredible,  or,  as  it  was  termed  in  parliament,  un- 
natural and  monstrous.  The  British  minister  at  Vienna 
exclaimed,  with  astonishment,  "  Will  you,  the  empress  and 
archduchess,  so  far  humble  yourself  as  to  throw  yourself  into 
the  arms  of  France  ?"  "  Not  into  the  arms,"  she  replied,  with 
some  haste  and  confusion,  "  but  on  the  side  of  France.  I 
have,"  she  continued,  "  hitherto  signed  nothing  with  France, 
though  I  know  not  what  may  happen  ;  but  whatever  does  hap- 
pen, I  promise,  on  my  word  of  honor,  not  to  sign  anything 
contrary  to  the  interests  of  your  royal  master,  for  whom  I  have 
a  most  sincere  friendship  and  regard." 

The  immediate  result  of  the  alliance  with  France  was  "  the 
seven  years'  war,"  in  which  Austria,  France,  Russia,  Sweden, 
and  Denmark,  and  afterward  Spain,  were  confederated  against 
the  King  of  Prussia,  who  was  assisted  by  Great  Britain  and 
Hanover,  and  only  preserved  from  destruction  by  the  enormous 
subsidies  of  England,  and  by  his  own  consummate  genius  and 
intrepidity. 

Until  eclipsed  by  the  great  military  events  of  the  present 
century,  this  war  stood  unequaled  for  the  skill,  the  bravery 
and  the  wonderful  resources  displayed  on  both  sides — for  the 
surprising  vicissitudes  of  victory  and  defeat — for  the  number 
of  great  battles  fought  within  so  short  a  period — for  the  in- 
stances of  individual  heroism,  and  the  tremendous  waste  of  hu- 


MARIA     THERESA.  291 

man  life.  In  the  former  war  our  sympathies  were  all  on  the 
side  of  Maria  Theresa.  In  the  seven  years'  contest,  we  cannot 
refuse  our  admiration  to  the  unshaken  fortitude  and  perseverance 
with  which  Frederick  defended  himself  against  his  enemies. 
He  led  his  armies  in  person.  The  generals  of  Maria  Theresa 
were  Marshal  Daun,  Marshal  Loudon,  and  Marshal  Lacy — the 
first  a  Bohemian,  the  second  of  Scottish,  and  the  third  of  Irish 
extraction.  The  empress,  influenced  equally  by  her  tenderness 
and  her  prudence,  would  never  allow  her  husband  to  take  the 
field.  Francis  was  personally  brave,  even  to  excess,  but  he  had 
not  the  talents  of  a  great  commander,  and  his  wife  would  neither 
risk  his  safety  nor  hazard  the  fate  of  her  dominions  by  intrust- 
ing her  armies  to  his  guidance. 

In  this  war  Maria  Theresa  recovered,  and  again  lost  Silesia ; 
at  one  time  she  was  nearly  overwhelmed  and  on  the  point  of 
being  driven  from  her  capitol ;  again  the  tide  of  war  rolled 
back,  and  her  troops  drove  Frederick  from  Berlin. 

When  Marshal  Daun  gained  the  victory  of  Kolin,  (June  18, 
1757),  by  which  the  Austrian  dominions  were  preserved  from 
the  most  imminent  danger,  the  empress-queen  instituted  the 
order  of  Maria  Theresa,  with  which  she  decorated  her  victorious 
general  and  his  principal  officers.  She  loaded  Daun  with  honors, 
and  distributed  rewards  and  gratuities  to  all  the  soldiers  who 
had  been  present ;  medals  were  struck — Te  Deums  were  sung  ; 
in  short,  she  triumphed  gratefully  and  gloriously.  When  a  few 
years  afterward,  the  same  Marshal  Daun  lost  a  decisive  bat- 
tle,* after  bravely  contesting  it,  Maria  Theresa  received  him 
with  greater  honors  than  after  his  former  success  ;  she  even 
went  out  from  her  capital  to  meet  him  on  his  return,  an  honor 
never  before  conferred  on  any  subject,  and  by  the  most  flatter- 

*  The  battle  of  Torgau. 


292  MARIA     THERESA. 

ing  expressions  of  kindness  and  confidence,  she  raised  his  spirits 
and  reconciled  him  with  himself ;  and  this  was  in  reality  a  more 
glorious  •>  triumph.  The  Roman  senators,  when  they  voted 
thanks  to  Fabius  after  his  defeat,  "  because  he  had  not  despaired 
of  the  fate  of  Rome,"  displayed  not  more  magnanimity  than 
did  this  generous  woman,  acting  merely  from  the  impulse  of  her 
own  feminine  nature. 

When  Frederick  of  Prussia  captured  any  of  the  Austrian  of- 
ficers, he  treated  them  with  coldness,  rigor  and  sometimes 
insult ;  Maria  Theresa  never  retaliated.  When  the  Prince  de 
Severn  was  taken  prisoner  in  Silesia,  Frederick,  like  a  mere 
heartless  despot  as  he  was,  declined  either  to  ransom  or  ex- 
change him.  He  did  not  even  deign  to  answer  the  prince's  let- 
ters. The  prince  applied  to  Maria  Theresa  for  permission  to 
ransom  himself,  and  she  gave  him  his  liberty  at  once,  without 
ransom  and  without  condition.  These  are  things  which  never 
should  be  forgotten  in  estimating  the  character  of  Maria  The- 
resa. Heaven  had  been  so  bountiful  to  her  in  mind  and  heart, 
that  the  possession  of  power  could  never  entirely  corrupt  either  ; 
still  and  ever  she  was  the  benevolent  and  high-souled  woman. 

Next  to  France,  her  chief  ally  in  this  war,  was  the  Empress 
Elizabeth  of  Russia,  whose  motived  of  enmity  against  Frederick 
were,  like  those  of  Maria  Theresa,  of  a  personal  nature. 
Frederick  had  indulged  in  some  severe  jests,  at  the  expense  of 
that  weak  and  vicious  woman.  She  retorted  with  an  army  of 
50,000  men.  It  appears  a  just  retribution  that  this  man,  who 
disdained  or  derided  all  female  society,  who  neglected  and  ill- 
treated  his  wife,  and  tyrannized  over  his  sisters,*  should  have 
been  nearly  destroyed  through  the  influence  of  the  sex  he 

»  For  one  instance  of  his  detestable  tyranny,  see  the  story  of  the  poor  Princess 
Amelia,  in  Thiebault. 


MARIA     THERESA.  293 

despised.  Of  all  his  enemies,  the  two  empresses  were  the  most 
powerful,  dangerous,  and  implacable.  In  seven  terrible  and 
sanguinary  campaigns  did  Frederick  make  head  against  the  con- 
federated powers  ;  but  the  struggle  was  too  unequal.  In  1762, 
Maria  Theresa  appeared  everywhere  triumphant ;  all  her  most 
sanguine  hopes  were  on  the  point  of  being  realized,  and  another 
campaign  must  have  seen  her  detested  adversary  ruined,  or  at 
her  feet.  Such  was  the  despondency  of  Frederick  at  this  time, 
that  he  carried  poison  abojit  him,  firmly  resolved  that  he  would 
not  be  led  a  captive  to  Vienna.  He  was  saved  by  one  of  those 
unforeseen  events,  by  which  Providence  so  often  confounds  and 
defeats  all  the  calculations  of  men.  The  Empress  Elizabeth 
died,  and  was  succeeded  by  Peter  the  Third,  who  entertained 
the  most  extravagant  admiration  for  Frederick.  Russia,  from 
being  a  formidable  enemy,  became  suddenly  an  ally.  The 
face  of  things  changed  at  once.  The  rival  powers  were  again 
balanced,  and  the  decision  of  this  terrible  game  of  ambition 
appeared  as  far  off  as  ever. 

But  all  parties  were  by  this  time  wearied  and  exhausted ;  all 
wished  for  peace,  and  none  would  stoop  to  ask  it.  At  length, 
one  of  Maria  Theresa's  officers,  who  had  been  wounded  and 
taken  prisoner,*  ventured  to  hint  to  Frederick  that  his  imperial 
mistress  was  not  unwilling  to  come  to  terms.  This  conversation 
took  place  at  the  castle  of  Hubertsberg.  The  king,  snatching 
up  half  a  sheet  of  paper,  wrote  down  in  few  words  the  conditions 
on  which  he  was  willing  to  make  peace.  The  whole  was  con- 
tained in  about  ten"  lines.  He  sent  this  off  to  Vienna  by  a 
courier,  demanding  a  definitive  answer  within  twelve  days. 
The  Austrian  ministers  were  absolutely  out  of  breath  at  the 
idea  ;  they  wished  to  temporize — to  delay.  But  Maria  Theresa, 

*  Thiebault,  Vingt  Ans  de  Sejour  a  Berlin. 


294  MARIA      THERESA. 

with  the  promptitude  of  her  character,  decided  at  once  ;  she 
accepted  the  terms,  and  the  peace  of  Hubertsberg  was  con- 
cluded in  1763.  By  this  treaty,  all  places  and  prisoners  were 
given  up.  Not  a  foot  of  territory  was  gained  or  lost  by  either 
party.  Silesia  continued  in  possession  of  Prussia  ;  the  political 
affairs  of  Germany  remained  in  precisely  the  same  state  as 
before  the  war ;  but  Saxony  and  Bohemia  had  been  desolated, 
Prussia  almost  depopulated,  and  more  than  500,000  men  had 
fallen  in  battle.  * 

France,  to  whom  the  Austrian  alliance  seems  destined  to  be 
ever  fatal,  lost  in  this  war  the  flower  of  her  armies,  half  the 
coined  money  of  the  kingdom,  almost  all  her  possessions  in 
America  and  in  the  East  and  West  Indies — her  marine,  her 
commerce,  and  her  credit  ;*  and  those  disorders  were  fomented, 
those  disasters  precipitated,  which  at  length  produced  the  re- 
volution, and  brought  the  daughter  of  Maria  Theresa  to  the 
scaffold. 

Immediately  after  the  peace  of  Hubertsberg,  the  Archduke 
Joseph  was  elected  King  of  the  Romans,  which  insured  him 
the  imperial  title  after  the  death  of  his  father. 

At  the  conclusion  of  the  seven  years'  war,  Maria  Theresa  was 
in  the  forty-eighth  year  of  her  age.  During  the  twenty-four 
years  of  her  public  life,  the  eyes  of  all  Europe  had  been  fixed 
upon  her  in  hope,  in  fear,  in  admiration.  She  had  contrived  to 
avert  from  her  own  states  the  worst  of  those  evils  she  had 
brought  on  others.  Her  subjects  beheld  her  with  a  love  and 
reverence  little  short  of  idolatry.  In  the  midst  of  her  weak- 
nesses, she  had  displayed  many  virtues ;  and  if  she  had  com- 
mitted great  errors,  she  had  also  performed  great  and  good 
actions.  But,  besides  being  an  empress  and  a  queen.  Maria 

*  Vide  Siecle  de  Louis  XV 


MARIA     THERESA.  295 

Theresa  was  also  a  wife  and  a  mother  ;  and  while  she  was  guid- 
ing the  reins  of  a  mighty  government,  we  are  tempted  to  ask, 
where  was  her  husband  ?  and  where  her  children  ? 

Maria  Theresa's  attachment  to  her  husband  had  been  fond 
and  passionate  in  her  youth,  and  it  was  not  only  constant  to 
death,  but  survived  even  in  the  grave.  Francis  was  her  inferior 
in  abilities.  His  influence  was  not  felt,  like  hers,  to  the  ex- 
tremity of  the  empire ;  but  no  man  could  be  more  generally 
beloved  in  his  court  and  family.  His  children  idolized  him,  and 
he  was  to  them  a  fond  and  indulgent  father.  His  temper  was 
gay,  volatile,  and  unambitious ;  his  manners  and  person  cap- 
tivating. Although  his  education  had  been  neglected,  he  had 
traveled  much,  had  seen  much,  and,  being  naturally  quick, 
social,  and  intelligent,  he  had  gained  some  information  on 
most  subjects.  In  Italy  he  had  imbibed  a  taste  for  the  fine 
arts  ;  he  cultivated  natural  history,  and  particularly  chemistry. 
While  his  wife  was  making  peace  and  war,  and  ruling  the 
destinies  of  nations,  he  amused  himself  among  his  retorts  and 
crucibles,  in  buying  pictures,  or  in  superintending  a  ballet  or 
an  opera. 

Francis  expended  immense  sums  in  the  study  of  alchymy  ;* 
he  also  believed  that  it  was  possible,  by  fusion,  to  convert 
several  small  diamonds  into  a  large  one,  for  it  was  not  then 

»  We  find  that,  during  the  reign  of  Maria  Theresa,  the  pursuit  of  the  philo- 
sopher's stone  was  not  only  the  fashion  at  Vienna,  but  was  encouraged  by  the 
government.  A  belief  in  the  doctrines  of  magic  and  in  familiar  spirits  was  also 
general,  even  among  persons  of  rank.  Princes,  ministers,  and  distinguished  mili- 
tary commanders  were  not  exempt  from  this  puerile  superstition. 

"  Professor  Jaquin,"  says  Wraxall,  writing  from  Vienna,  "is  empowered  by  the 
empress  to  receive  proposals  from  such  as  are  inclined  to  enter  on  the  attempt 
to  make  gold, — in  other  words,  to  find  the  philosopher's  stone.  They  are  imme- 
diately provided  by  him  with  a  room,  charcoal,  utensils,  crucibles,  and  every 
requisite,  at  her  imperial  majesty's  expense." 


296  MARIA     THERESA. 

known  that  the  diamond  was  a  combustible  substance.  His 
attempts  in  this  way  cost  him  large  sums.  He  was  fond  of 
amassing  money,  apparently  not  so  much  from  avarice  as  from 
an  idea  that  wealth  would  give  him  a  kind  of  power  independent 
of  his  consort.  Many  instances  are  related  of  his  humanity  and 
beneficence,  and  his  private  charities  are  said  to  have  been 
immense. 

During  the  life  of  Francis,  Vienna  was  a  gay  and  magnificent 
capital.  There  was  a  fine  opera,  for  which  Gluck  and  Hasse 
composed  the  music,  and  Noverre  superintended  the  ballets. 
He  was  fond  of  masks,  balls,  and  fetes ;  and  long  after  the 
empress  had  ceased  to  take  a  pleasure  in  these  amusements, 
she  entered  into  them  for  her  husband's  sake.  All  accounts 
agree  that  they  lived  together  in  the  most  cordial  union ;  that 
Maria  Theresa  was  an  example  of  every  wife-like  virtue — except 
submission ;  and  Francis  a  model  of  every  conjugal  virtue — 
except  fidelity.  Such  exceptions  might  have  been  supposed 
fatal  to  all  domestic  peace,  but  this  imperial  couple  seem  to 
present  a  singular  proof  to  the  contrary. 

Francis  submitted  without  a  struggle  to  the  ascendency  of 
his  wife ;  he  even  affected  to  make  a  display  of  his  own  insignifi- 
cance, as  compared  with  her  grandeur  and  power.  Many  in- 
stances are  related  of  the  extreme  simplicity  of  his  manners. 
Being  once  at  the  levee,  when  the  empress-queen  was  giving 
audience  to  her  subjects,  he  retired  from  the  circle,  and  seated 
himself  in  a  distant  corner  of  the  apartment,  near  two  ladies  of 
the  ceurt.  On  their  attempting  to  rise,  he  said,  "  Do  not  mind 
me  ;  I  shall  stay  here  till  the  court  is  gone,  and  then  amuse  my- 
self with  looking  at  the  crowd. "  One  of  the  ladies  (the  Countess 
Harrach)  replied,  "  As  long  as  your  imperial  majesty  is  present, 
the  court  will  be  here."  "You  mistake,"  replied  Francis; 


MARIA     THERESA.  297 

"  the  empress  and  my  children  are  the  court — I  am  here  but  as 
a  simple  individual."* 

In  the  summer  of  1765,  the  imperial  court  left  Vienna  for 
Inspruck,  in  order  to  be  present  at  the  marriage  of  the 
Archduke  Leopold  with  the  Infanta  of  Spain.  The  emperor 
had  previously  complained  of  indisposition,  and  seemed  over- 
come by  those  melancholy  presentiments  which  are  often  the 
result  of  a  deranged  system,  and  only  remembered  when  they 
happen  to  be  realized.  He  was  particularly  fond  of  his  youngest 
daughter,  Marie  Antoinette,  and,  after  taking  leave  of  his 
children,  he  ordered  her  to  be  brought  to  him  once  more.  He 
took  her  in  his  arms,  kissed,  and  pressed  her  to  his  heart, 
saying,  with  emotion,  "  J'avais  besoin  d'embrasser  encore  cette 
enfant!"  While  at  Inspruck  he  was  much  indisposed,  and 
Maria  Theresa,  who  watched  him  with  solicitude,  appeared  miser- 
able and  anxious ;  she  requested  that  he  would  be  bled.  He 
replied,  with  a  petulance  very  unusual  to  him,  "  Madame,  voulez 
vous  que  je  meurs  dans  la  saignee  ?"  The  heavy  air  of  the 
valleys  seemed  to  oppress  him  even  to  suffocation,  and  he  was 
often  heard  to  exclaim,  "  Ah  !  si  je  pouvais  seulement  sortir  de 
ces  montagnes  du  Tyrol!"  On  Sunday,  August  18th,  the 
empress  and  his  sister  again  entreated  him  to  be  bled.  He 
replied,  "  I  must  go  to  the  opera,  and  I  am  engaged  afterward 
to  sup  with  Joseph,  and  cannot  disappoint  him ;  but  I  will  be 
bled  to-morrow."  The  same  evening,  on  leaving  the  theatre, 
he  fell  down  in  an  apoplectic  fit,  and  expired  in  the  arms  of 
his  son. 

A  scene  of  horror  and  confusion  immediately  ensued.  While 
her  family  and  attendants  surrounded  the  empress,  and  the 
officers  of  the  palace  were  running  different  ways  in  consterna- 

*  Coxe's  Memoirs. 


298  MARIA     THERESA. 

tion,  the  body  of  Francis  lay  abandoned  on  a  little  wretched 
pallet  in  one  of  the  ante-rooms,  the  blood  oozing  from  the  orifices 
in  his  temples,  and  not  even  a  valet  near  to  watch  over  him  ! 

The  anguish  of  Maria  Theresa  was  heightened  by  her  re- 
ligious feelings ;  and  the  idea  that  her  husband  had  been  taken 
away  in  the  midst  of  his  pleasures,  and  before  he  had  time  to 
make  his  peace  with  God,  seemed  to  press  fearfully  upon  her 
mind.  It  was  found  necessary  to  remove  her  instantly.  She 
was  placed  in  a  barge,  hastily  fitted  up*  and,  accompanied  only 
by  her  son,  her  master  of  horse,  and  a  single  lady  in  waiting, 
she  proceeded  down  the  river  to  Vienna. 

Previous  to  her  departure,  a  courier  was  dispatched  to  the 
three  archduchesses,  who  had  been  left  behind  in  the  capital, 
bearing  a  letter  which  the  empress  had  dictated  to  her  daughters 
on  the  day  after  her  husband's  death.  It  was  in  these  words  :— 

"  Alas !  my  dear  daughters,  I  am  unable  to  comfort  you ! 
Our  calamity  is  at  its  height ;  you  have  lost  a  most  incomparable 
father,  and  I  a  consort — a  friend — my  heart's  joy,  for  forty-two 
years  past !  Having  been  brought  up  together,  our  hearts  and 
our  sentiments  were  united  in  the  same  views.  All  the  mis- 
fortunes I  have  suffered  during  the  last  -twenty-five  years  were 
softened  by  his  support.  I  am  suffering  such  deep  affliction, 
that  nothing  but  true  piety  and  you,  my  dear  children,  can 
make  me  tolerate  a  life  which,  during  its  continuance,  shall  be 
spent  in  acts  of  devotion.  Pray  for  our  good  and  worthy 
master.*  I  give  you  my  blessing,  and  will  ever  be  your  good 
mother,  MARIA  THERESA." 

The  remains  of  Francis  the  First  were  carried  to  Vienna, 

*  The  Emperor  Joseph. 


MARIA     THERESA.  299 

and,  after  lying  in  state,  were  deposited  in  the  family-vault 
under  the  church  of  the  Capuchins.  When  Maria  Theresa  was 
only  six-and-twenty,  and  in  the  full  bloom  of  youth  and  health, 
she  had  constructed  in  this  vault  a  monument  for  herself  and 
her  husband.  Hither,  during  the  remainder  of  her  life,  she 
repaired  on  the  18th  of  every  month,  and  poured  forth  her 
devotions  at  his  tomb.  Her  grief  had  the  same  fixed  character 
with  all  her  other  feelings.  She  wore  mourning  to  the  day  of 
her  death.  She  never  afterward  inhabited  the  state  apartments 
in  which  she  had  formerly  lived  with  her  husband,  but  removed 
to  a  suite  of  rooms,  plainly  and  even  poorly  furnished,  and 
hung  with  black  cloth.  There  was  no  affectation  in  this  excess 
of  sorrow.  Her  conduct  was  uniform  during  sixteen  years. 
Though  she  held  her  court  and  attended  to  the  affairs  of  the 
government  as  usual,  she  was  never  known  to  enter  into  amuse- 
ments, or  to  relax  from  the  mournful  austerity  of  her  widowed 
state,  except  on  public  occasions,  when  her  presence  was 
absolutely  necessary. 

Maria  Theresa  was  the  mother  of  sixteen  children.  The  un- 
happy Marie  Antoinette,  wife  of  the  dauphin,  afterward  Louis 
XVI.,  was  her  youngest  daughter.  She  was  united  to  the  dau- 
phin in  1770,  and  thus  was  sealed  an  alliance  between  Austria 
and  France — the  great  object  of  her  wishes,  which  Maria  Theresa 
had  been  engaged  for  years  in  accomplishing — for,  in  placing  a 
daughter  upon  the  throne  of  France,  she  believed  that  she  was 
securing  a  predominant  influence  in  the  French  cabinet,  and 
that  she  was  rendering,  by  this  grand  scheme  of  policy,  the 
ancient  and  hereditary  rival  of  her  empire,  subservient  to  the 
future  aggrandizement  of  her  house. 

Maria  Theresa  lived  in  the  interior  of  her  palace  with  great 
simplicity.  In  the  morning  an  old  man,  who  could  hardly  be 


300  MARIA     THERESA. 

entitled  a  chamberlain,  but  merely  what  is  called  on  the  conti- 
nent a  frottiur,  entered  her  sleeping-room,  about  five  or  six 
o'clock  in  the  morning,  opened  the  shutters,  lighted  the  stove, 
and  arranged  the  apartment.  She  breakfasted  on  a  cup  of 
milk-coffee  ;  then  dressed  and  heard  mass.  She  then  pro- 
ceeded to  business.  Every  Tuesday  she  received  the  ministers 
of  the  different  departments  ;  other  days  were  set  apart  for 
giving  audience  to  foreigners  and  strangers,  who,  according  to  the 
etiquette  of  the  imperial  court,  were  always  presented  singly, 
and  received  in  the  private  apartments.  There  were  stated 
days  on  which  the  poorest  and  meanest  of  her  subjects  were  ad- 
mitted almost  indiscriminately  ;  and  so  entire  was  her  confidence 
in  their  attachment  and  her  own  popularity,  that  they  might 
whisper  to  her,  or  see  her  alone,  if  they  required  it.  At  other 
times  she  read  memorials,  or  dictated  letters  and  dispatches, 
signed  papers,  &c.  At  noon,  her  dinner  was  brought  in,  con- 
sisting of  a  few  dishes,  served  with  simplicity  ;  she  usually 
dined  alone,  like  Napoleon,  and  for  the  same  reason — to  econo- 
mize time.  After  dinner  she  was  engaged  in  public  business 
till  six  ;  after  that  hour  her  daughters  were  admitted  to  join  in 
her  evening  prayer.  If  they  absented  themselves,  she  sent  to 
know  if  they  were  indisposed  ;  if  not,  they  were  certain  of 
meeting  with  a  maternal  reprimand  on  the  following  day.  At 
half  past  eight  or  nine,  she  retired  to  rest.  When  she  held  a 
drawing-room  or  an  evening-circle,  she  remained  till  ten  or 
eleven,  and  sometimes  played  at  cards.  Before  the  death  of 
her  husband,  she  was  often  present  at  the  masked  balls,  or  ri- 
dottos,  which  were  given  at  court  during  the  carnival ;  after- 
ward, these  entertainments  and  the  number  of  fetes,  or  gala- 
days,  were  gradually  diminished  in  number.  During  the  last 
years  of  her  life,  when  she  became  very  infirm,  the  nobility  and 


MARIA     THERESA.  301 

foreign  ministers  generally  assembled  at  the  houses  of  Prince 
Kaunitz  and  Prince  Collerado. 

On  the  first  day  of  the  year,  and  on  her  birth-day,  Maria  The- 
resa held  a  public  court,  at  which  all  the  nobility,  and  civil  and 
military  officers  who  did  not  obtain  access  at  other  times, 
crowded  to  kiss  her  hand.  She  continued  this  custom  as  long 
as  she  could  support  herself  in  a  chair. 

Great  part  of  the  summer  and  autumn  were  spent  at  Schon- 
brunn,  or  at  Lachsenburg.  In  the  gardens  of  the  former 
palace  there  was  a  little  shaded  alley,  communicating  with  her 
apartments.  Here,  in  the  summer  days,  she  was  accustomed  to 
walk  up  and  down,  or  sit  for  hours  together ;  a  box  was  buckled 
round  her  waist,  filled  with  papers  and  memorials,  which  she 
read  carefully,  noting  with  her  pencil  the  necessary  answers  or 
observations  to  each. 

It  was  the  fault  or  rather  the  mistake  of  Maria  Theresa  to 
give  up  too  much  of  her  time  to  the  petty  details  of  business ; 
in  her  government  as  in  her  religion  she  sometimes  mistook 
the  form  for  the  spirit,  and  her  personal  superintendence  be- 
came at  length  more  like  the  vigilance  of  an  inspector-general, 
than  the  enlightened  jurisdiction  of  a  sovereign.  She  could 
not,  however,  be  accused  of  selfishness  or  vanity  in  this  respect, 
for  her  indefatigable  attention  to  business  was  without  parade, 
and  to  these  duties  she  sacrificed  her  pleasures,  her  repose,  and 
often  her  health. 

Much  of  her  time  was  employed  in  devotion  ;  the  eighteenth 
day  of  every  month  was  consecrated  to  the  memory  of  her  hus- 
band ;*  and  the  whole  month  of  August  was  usually  spent  in 
retirement,  in  penance  and  in  celebrating  masses  and  requiems 
for  the  repose  of  his  soul.  Those  who  are  "  too  proud  to  wor- 

*  Francis  died  on  the  18th  of  August. 


302  MARIA     THERESA. 

ship,  and  too  wise  to  feel,"  may  smile  at  this — but  others,  even 
those  who  do  not  believe  in  the  efficacy  of  requiems  and  masses, 
will  respect  the  source  from  which  her  sorrow  flowed,  and  the 
power  whence  it  sought  for  comfort. 

After  the  death  of  her  husband  she  admitted  her  son,  the 
emperor  Joseph,  to  the  co-regency  or  joint-government  of  all 
her  hereditary  dominions,  without  prejudice  to  her  own  supreme 
jurisdiction.  They  had  one  court,  and  their  names  were  united 
in  all  the  edicts  ;  but  what  were  the  exact  limits  of  their  re- 
spective prerogatives  none  could  tell.  The  mother  and  son 
occasionally  differed  in  opinion ;  he  sometimes  influenced  her 
against  her  better  judgment  and  principles  ;  but  during  her  life 
she  held  in  some  constraint  the  restless,  ambitious,  and  despotic 
spirit  of  the  young  emperor.  The  good  terms  on  which  they 
lived  together,  her  tenderness  for  him,  and  his  dutiful  reverence 
toward  her,  place  the  maternal  character  of  Maria  Theresa  in  a 
very  respectable  point  of  view.  Prince  Kaunitz  had  the  chief 
direction  of  foreign  affairs,  and  although  the  empress  placed 
unbounded  confidence  in  his  integrity  and  abilities,  and  indulged 
him  in  all  his  peculiarities  and  absurdities,  he  was  a  minister, 
and  not  a  favorite. 

She  founded  or  enlarged  in  different  parts  of  her  extensive 
dominions  several  academies  for  the  improvement  of  the  arts 
and  sciences ;  instituted  numerous  seminaries  for  the  education 
of  all  ranks  of  people  ;  reformed  the  public  schools,  and  ordered 
prizes  to  be  distributed  among  the  students  who  made  the  great- 
est progress  in  learning,  or  were  distinguished  for  propriety  of 
behavior  or  purity  of  morals.  She  established  prizes  for  those 
who  excelled  in  different  branches  of  manufacture,  in  geometry, 
mining,  smelting  metals,  and  even  spinning.  She  particularly 
turned  her  attention  to  the  promotion  of  agriculture,  which  in  a 


MARIA     THERESA.  303 

medal  struck  by  her  order,  was  entitled  the  "  Art  which  nour- 
ishes all  other  arts,"  and  founded  a  society  of  agriculture  at 
Milan,  with  bounties  to  the  peasants  who  obtained  the  best 
crops.  She  confined  the  rights  of  the  chase,  often  so  pernicious 
to  the  husbandman,  within  narrow  limits,  and  issued  a  decree, 
enjoining  all  the  nobles  who  kept  wild  game  to  maintain  their 
fences  in  good  repair,  permitting  the  peasants  to  destroy  the 
wild-boars  which  ravished  the  fields.  She  also  abolished  the 
scandalous  power  usurped  by  the  landholders  of  limiting  the 
season  for  mowing  the  grass  within  the  forests  and  their  pre- 
cincts, and  mitigated  the  feudal  servitude  of  the  peasants  in 
Bohemia. 

Among  her  beneficial  regulations  must  not  be  omitted  the 
introduction  of  inoculation,  and  the  establishment  of  a  small-pox 
hospital.  On  the  recovery  of  her  children  from  a  disorder  so 
fatal  to  her  own  family,  Maria  Theresa  gave  an  entertainment 
which  displayed  the  benevolence  of  her  character.  Sixty-five 
children,  who  had  been  previously  inoculated  at  the  hospital, 
were  regaled  with  a  dinner  in  the  gallery  of  the  palace  at 
Schonbrunn,  in  the  midst  of  a  numerous  court ;  and  Maria 
Theresa  herself,  assisted  by  her  offspring,  waited  on  this  de- 
lightful group,  and  gave  to  each  of  them  a  piece  of  money. 
The  parents  of  the  children  were  treated  in  another  apartment ; 
the  whole  party  was  admitted  to  the  performance  of  a  German 
play,  and  this  charming  entertainment  was  concluded  with  a 
dance,  which  was  protracted  till  midnight. 

Perhaps  the  greatest  effort  made  by  the  empress-queen,  and 
which  reflects  the  highest  honor  on  her  memory,  was  the  re- 
formation of  various  abuses  in  the  church,  and  the  regulations 
which  she  introduced  into  the  monasteries. 

She  took  away  the  pernicious  right  which  the  convents  and 


304  MARIA     THERESA. 

churches  enjoyed  of  affording  an  asylum  to  all  criminals  with- 
out distinction  ;  she  suppressed  the  Inquisition,  which,  though 
curbed  by  the  civil  power,  still  subsisted  at  Milan.  She  sup- 
pressed the  society  of  Jesuits,  although  her  own  confessor  was 
a  member  of  that  order,  but  did  not  imitate  the  unjust  and  cruel 
measures  adopted  in  Spain  and  Portugal,  and  softened  the  rigor 
of  their  lot  by  every  alleviation  which  circumstances  would 
permit. 

To  these  particulars  may  be  added,  that  Maria  Theresa  was 
the  firsj;  sovereign  who  threw  open  the  royal  domain  of  the 
Prater  to  the  use  of  the  public.  This  was  one  of  the  most 
popular  acts  of  her  reign.  She  prevailed  on  Pope  Clement 
XIV.,  (Granganelli),  to  erase  from  the  calendar  many  of  the 
saints'  days  and  holydays,  which  had  became  so  numerous  as  to 
affect  materially  the  transactions  of  business  and  commerce,  as 
well  as  the  morals  of  the  people.  It  is  curious  that  this  should 
have  proved  one  of  the  most  unpopular  of  all  her  edicts,  and 
was  enforced  with  the  utmost  difficulty.  Great  as  was  the 
bigotry  of  Maria  Theresa,  that  of  her  loving  subjects  appears 
to  have  far  exceeded  hers.  She  also  paid  particular  attention 
to  the  purity  of  her  coinage,  considering  it  as  part  of  the  good 
faith  of  a  sovereign. 

It  must,  however,  be  confessed  that  all  her  regulations  were 
not  equally  praiseworthy  and  beneficial.  For  instance,  the 
censorship  of  the  press  was  rigorous  and  illiberal,  and  the  pro- 
hibition of  foreign  works,  particularly  of  French  and  English 
literature,  amounted  to  a  kind  of  proscription.  We  are  assured 
that  "  the  far  greater  number  of  those  books  which  constitute 
the  libraries  of  persons  distinguished  for  taste  and  refinement, 
not  merely  in  France  or  England,  but  even  at  Rome  or 
Florence,  were  rigorously  condemned,  and  their  entry  was 


MARIA     THERESA.  305 

attended  with  no  less  difficulty  than  danger."  That  not  only 
works  of  an  immoral  and  a  rebellious  tendency,  but  "  a  sen- 
tence reflecting  on  the  Catholic  religion  ;  a  doubt  thrown  upon 
the  sanctity  of  some  hermit  or  monk  of  the  middle  ages ;  any 
publication  wherein  superstition  was  attacked  or  censured,  how- 
ever slightly,  was  immediately  noticed  by  the  police,  and 
prohibited  under  the  severest  penalties." 

The  impediments  thus  thrown  in  the  way  of  knowledge  and 
the  diffusion  of  literature,  in  a  great  degree  neutralized  the 
effect  of  her  munificence  in  other  instances.  It  must  be  allowed 
that,  though  the  rise  of  the  modern  German  literature,  which 
now  holds  so  high  a  rank  in  Europe,  dates  from  the  reign  of 
Maria  Theresa,  it  owes  nothing  to  her  patronage.  Not  that, 
like  Frederick  II.,  she  held  it  in  open  contempt,  but  that  her 
mind  was  otherwise  engaged.  Lessing,  Klopstock,  Kant,  and 
Winkelman,  all  lived  in  her  time,  but  none  of  them  were  born 
her  subjects,  and  they  derived  no  encouragement  from  her 
notice  and  patronage. 

But  the  great  stain  upon  the  character  and  reign  of  Maria 
Theresa — an  event  which  we  cannot  approach  without  pain  and 
reluctance — was  the  infamous  dismemberment  of  Poland  in 
1772.  The  detailed  history  of  this  transaction  occupies  vol- 
umes ;  but  the  manner  in  which  Maria  Theresa  brcame  im- 
plicated, her  personal  share  in  the  disgrace  attached  to  it,  and 
all  that  can  be  adduced  in  palliation  of  her  conduct,  may  be  re- 
lated in  very  few  words. 

The  empress-queen  had  once  declared  that,  though  she  might 
make  peace  with  Frederick,  no  consideration  should  ever  induce 
her  to  enter  into  an  alliance  in  which  he  was  a  party.  To  pre- 
vent the  increase  of  his  power,  and  to  guard  against  his  en- 
croaching ambition,  his  open  hostility,  or  his  secret  enmity,  had 


306  MARIA     THERESA. 

long  been  the  ruling  principle  of  the  cabinet  of  Vienna.  Under 
the  influence  of  her  son,  and  of  the  Russian  government,  and 
actuated  by  motives  of  interest  and  expediency,  Maria  Theresa 
departed  from  this  line  of  policy,  to  which  she  had  adhered  for 
thirty  years. 

The  first  idea  of  dismembering  and  partitioning  Poland  un- 
doubtedly originated  with  the  court  of  Prussia. 

The  negotiations  and  arrangements  for  this  purpose  were  car- 
ried on  with  the  profoundest  secrecy,  and  each  of  the  powers 
concerned  was  so  conscious  of  the  infamy  attached  to  it,  and  so 
anxious  to  cast  the  largest  share  of  blame  upon  another,  that  no 
event  of  modern  history  is  involved  in  more  obscurity  or  more 
perplexed  by  contradictory  statements  and  relations.  It  is  really 
past  the  power  of  a  plain  understanding  to  attempt  to  disentangle 
this  dark  web  of  atrocious  policy.  From  the  discovery  of  some 
of  the  original  documents  within  the  last  few  years,  a  shade  of 
guilt  has  been  removed  from  the  memory  of  Maria  Theresa  ; 
for  it  appears  that  the  treaty  which  originated  with  Frederick 
was  settled  between  Prince  Henry  of  Prussia  and  Catherine  the 
Second,  hi  1769  ;  and  that  it  was  then  agreed  that,  if  Austria 
refused  to  accede  to  the  measure,  Russia  and  Prussia  should 
sign  a  senarate  treaty — league  against  her,  seize  upon  Poland, 
and  carry  the  war  to  her  frontiers.  Maria  Theresa  professed 
to  feel  great  scruples,  both  religious  and  political,  in  participating 
either  in  the  disgrace  or  advantages  of  this  transaction,  but  she 
was  overruled  by  her  son  and  Kaunitz,  and  she  preferred  a  share 
of  the  booty  to  a  terrible  and  precarious  war.  That  armies 
should  take  the  field  on  a  mere  point  of  honor,  and  potentates 
"  greatly  find  quarrel  in  a  straw,"  is  nothing  new  ;  but  a  war 
undertaken  upon  a  point  of  honesty,  a  scruple  of  conscience — 
or  from  a  generous  sense  of  the  right  opposed  to  the  wrong — 


MARIA      THERES-A.  307 

this,  certainly,  would  have  been  unprecedented  in  history  ;  and 
Maria  Theresa  did  not  set  the  example.  When  once  she  had 
acceded  to  this  scandalous  treaty,  she  was  determined,  with  her 
characteristic  prudence,  to  derive  as  much  advantage  from  it  as 
possible,  and  her  demands  were  so  unconscionable,  and  the  share 
she  claimed  was  so  exorbitant,  that  the  negotiation  had  nearly 
been  broken  off  by  her  confederates.  At  length,  a  dread  of 
premature  exposure,  and  a  fear  of  the  consequent  failure,  in- 
duced her  to  lower  her  pretensions,  and  the  treaty  for  the  first 
partition  of  Poland  was  signed  at  Petersburg  on  the  3d  of 
August,  1772. 

The  situation  of  Poland  at  this  time,  divided  between  a  licen- 
tious nobility  and  an  enslaved  peasantry,  torn  by  faction,  de- 
solated by  plague  and  famine,  abandoned  to  every  excess  of 
violence,  anarchy,  and  profligacy  ;  the  cool  audacity  of  the  im- 
perial swindlers,  who  first  deceived  and  degraded,  then  robbed 
and  trampled  upon  that  unhappy  country  ;  the  atrocious  means 
by  which  an  atrocious  purpose  was  long  prepared,  and  at  length 
accomplished  ;  the  mixture  of  duplicity,  and  cruelty,  and  bri- 
bery ;  the  utter  demoralization  of  the  agents  and  their  victims, 
of  the  corrupters  and  the  corrupted — altogether  presents  a  pic- 
ture which,  when  contemplated  in  all  its  details,  fills  the  mind 
with  loathing  and  horror.  By  the  treaty  of  partition,  to  which 
a  committee  of  Polish  delegates,  and  the  king  at  their  head, 
were  obliged  to  set  their  seal,  Russia  appropriated  all  the  north- 
eastern part  of  Poland — Frederick  obtained  all  the  district  which 
stretches  along  the  Baltic,  called  Western  Prussia — Maria  The- 
resa seized  on  a  large  territory  to  the  south  of  Poland,  including 
Red  Russia,  Gallicia,  and  Lodomeria.  The  city  and  palatinate 
of  Cracow  and  the  celebrated  salt-mines  of  Vilitzka  were  in- 
cluded in  her  division. 


308  MARIA     THERESA. 

In  reference  to  Maria  Theresa's  share  in  the  spoliation  of 
Poland,  I  cannot  forbear  to  mention  one  circumstance,  and  will 
leave  it  without  a  comment.  She  was  particularly  indignant 
against  the  early  aggression  of  Frederick,  as  not  only  unjust  and 
treacherous,  but  ungrateful,  since  it  was  owing  to  the  inter- 
ference of  her  father,  Charles  the  Sixth,  that  Frederick  had 
not  lost  his  life  either  in  a  dungeon  or  on  a  scaffold  at  the  time 
that  he  was  arrested  with  his  friend  Katt.*  In  the  room  which 
Maria  Theresa  habitually  occupied,  and  in  which  she  transacted 
business,  hung  two  pictures,  and  only  two  ;  one  was  the  portrait 
of  John  Sobieski,  King  of  Poland,  whose  heroism  had  saved 
Vienna  when  besieged  by  the  Turks  in  1683 — the  other  re- 
presented her  grandfather,  Leopold,  who  owed  the  preserva- 
tion of  his  country,  his  capital,  his  crown,  his  very  existence, 
to  the  intervention  of  the  Poles  on  that  memorable  occasion. 

After  the  partition  of  Poland,  Maria  Theresa  appeared  at 
the  height  of  her  grandeur,  power,  and  influence,  as  a  sovereign. 
She  had  greatly  extended  her  territories  ;  she  had  an  army  on 
foot  of  two  hundred  thousand  men  ;  her  finances  were  brought 
into  such  excellent  order  that,  notwithstanding  her  immense 
expenses,  she  was  able  to  lay  by  in  her  treasury  not  less  than 
two  hundred  thousand  crowns  a  year.  She  lived  on  terms  of 
harmony  with  her  ambitious,  enterprising,  and  accomplished 
son  and  successor,  which  secured  her  domestic  peace  and  her 
political  strength ;  while  her  .subjects  blessed  her  mild  sway, 
and  bestowed  on  her  the  title  of  "  mother  of  her  people." 

The  rest  of  the  reign  of  Maria  Theresa  is  not  distinguished 
by  any  event  of  importance  till  the  year  1778,  when  she  was 

*  Vide  Life  of  Frederick  the  Great.  Katt,  as  it  is  well  known,  was  beheaded  in 
his  sight ;  and  Frederick  had  very  nearly  suffered  the  fate  of  Don  Carlos — that  of 
being  assassinated  by  his  crack-brained  father. 


MARIA     THERESA.  309 

again  nearly  plunged  into  a  war  with  her  old  adversary,  Freder- 
ick of  Prussia. 

The  occasion  was  this, — the  Elector  of  Bavaria  died  without 
leaving  any  son  to  succeed  to  his  dominions,  and  his  death  was 
regarded  by  the  court  of  Vienna  as  a  favorable  opportunity  to 
revive  certain  equivocal  claims  on  the  part  of  the  Bavarian 
territories.  No  sooner  did  the  intelligence  of  the  elector's 
indisposition  arrive  at  Vienna  than  the  armies  were  held  in  readi- 
ness to  march.  Kaunitz,  spreading  a  map  before  the  empress 
and  her  son,  pointed  out  those  portions  to  which  he  conceived 
that  the  claims  of  Austria  might  extend  ;  and  Joseph,  with  all 
the  impetuosity  of  his  character,  enforced  the  views  and  argu- 
ments of  the  minister.  Maria  Theresa  hesitated — she  was  now 
old  and  infirm,  and  averse  to  all  idea  of  tumult  and  war. 
She  recoiled  from  a  design  of  which  she  perceived  at  once  the 
injustice  as  well  as  the  imprudence  ;  and  when  at  last  she 
yielded  to  the  persuasions  of  her  son,  she  exclaimed,  with 
much  emotion,  "  In  God's  name,  only  take  what  we  have  a 
right  to  demand  !  I  foresee  that  it  will  end  in  war.  My  wish  is 
to  end  my  days  in  peace." 

No  sooner  was  a  reluctant  consent  wrung  from  her  than  the 
Austrians  entered  Bavaria,  and  took  forcible  possession  of  tho 
greatest  part  of  the  electorate. 

The  King  of  Prussia  was  not  inclined  to  be  a  quiet  spectator 
of  this  scheme  of  aggrandizement  on  the  part  of  Austria,  and 
immediately  prepared  to  interfere  and  dispute  her  claims  to  the 
Bavarian  succession.  Though  now  seventy  years  of  age,  time 
had  but  little  impaired  either  the  vigor  of  his  mind  or  the  ac- 
tivity of  his  frame  ;  still,  with  him  "  the  deed  o'ertook  the  pur- 
pose," and  his  armies  were  assembled  and  had  entered  Bohemia 
before  the  court  of  Vienna  was  apprised  of  his  movements. 


310  MARIA     THERESA. 

To  Frederick  was  opposed  the  young  Emperor  Joseph,  at  the 
head  of  a  more  numerous  force  than  had  ever  before  taken  the 
field  under  the  banners  of  Austria,  supported  by  the  veteran 
generals,  Loudon  and  Lacy,  and  burning  for  the  opportunity, 
which  his  mother's  prudence  had  hitherto  denied  him,  to  dis- 
tinguish himself  by  some  military  exploit,  and  encounter  the 
enemy  of  his  family  on  the  field  of  battle. 

But  how  different  were  all  the  views  and  feelings  of  the  aged 
empress  !  how  changed  ffom  what  they  had  been  twenty  years 
before  !  She  regarded  the  approaching  war  with  a  species  of 
horror  ;  her  heart  still  beat  warm  to  all  her  natural  affections  ; 
but  hatred,  revenge,  ambition — sentiments  which  had  rather 
been  awakened  there  by  circumstances  than  native  to  her  dispo- 
sition— were  dead  within  her.  When  the  troops  from  different 
parts  of  her  vast  empire  assembled  at  Vienna,  and  marched 
with  all  their  military  ensigns  past  the  windows  of  her  palace, 
she  ordered  her  shutters  to  be  closed.  Her  eyes  were  con- 
stantly suffused  with  tears,  her  knees  continually  bent  in  prayer. 
Half-conscious  of  the  injustice  of  her  cause,  she  scarcely  dared 
to  ask  a  blessing  on  her  armies ;  she  only  hoped  by  supplication 
to  avert  the  immediate  wrath  of  Heaven. 

All  the  preparations  for  the  campaign  being  completed,  the  em- 
peror and  his  brother  Maximilian  set  off  for  the  camp  at  Olmutz 
in  April,  1778.  When  they  waited  on  the  empress  to  take 
their  leave  and  receive  her  parting  benediction,  she  held  them 
long  in  her  arms,  weeping  bitterly ;  and  when  the  emperor  at 
length  tore  himself  from  her  embraces,  she  nearly  fainted  away. 

During  the  next  few  months  she  remained  in  the  interior  of 
her  palace,  melancholy  and  anxious,  but  not  passive  and  inactive. 
She  was  revolving  the  means  of  terminating  a  war  which  she 
detested.  Her  evident  reluctance  seems  to  have  paralyzed  her 


MARIA     THERESA.  311 

generals  ;  for  the  whole  of  this  campaign,  which  had  opened  with 
such  tremendous  preparations,  passed  without  any  great  battle  or 
any  striking  incident  except  the  capture  of  Habelschwert,  which 
as  it  opened  a  passage  into  Silesia,  wa^  likely  to  be  followed  by 
important  consequences.  When  Colonel  Palavicini  arrived  at 
Vienna  with  the  tidings  of  this  event,  and  laid  the  standards 
taken  from  the  enemy  at  the  feet  of  the  empress,  she  received 
him  with  complacency  ;  but  when  he  informed  her  that  the 
town  and  inhabitants  of  Habelschwert  had  suffered  much  from 
the  fury  of  the  troops,  she  opened  her  bureau,  and  taking  out  a 
bag  containing  five  hundred  ducats,  "  I  desire,"  said  she, 
"  that  this  sum  may  be  distributed  in  my  name  among  the  un- 
fortunate sufferers  whose  houses  or  effects  have  been  plundered 
by  my  soldiery  ;  it  will  be  of  some  little  use  and  consolation  to 
them  under  their  misfortunes." 

She  still  retained  something  of  the  firmness  and  decision 
of  her  former  years  ;  age,  which  had  subdued  her  haughty 
spirit,  had  not  enfeebled  her  powers  ;  and  in  this  emergency 
she  took  the  only  measures  left  to  avert  the  miseries  of  a  ter- 
rible and  unjust  war.  Unknown  to  her  son,  and  even  without 
the  knowledge  of  Kaunitz,  she  acted  for  herself  and  for  her 
people,  with  a  degree  of  independence,  resolution,  and  good 
feeling,  which  awakens  our  best  sympathies,  and  fills  us  with 
admiration  both  for  the  sovereign  and  the  woman.  She  dis- 
patched a  confidential  officer  with  a  letter  addressed  to  the 
King  of  Prussia,  in  which  she  avowed  her  regret  that  in  their 
old  age  Frederick  and  herself  "  should  be  about  to  tear  the 
gray  hairs  from  each  other's  head."*  "  I  perceive,"  said  she, 
"  with  extreme  sensibility,  the  breaking  out  of  a  new  war.  My 
age  and  my  earnest  desire  for  maintaining  peace  are  well 

*  Her  own  words. 


312  MARIA     THERESA. 

known ;  and  I  cannot  give  a  more  convincing  proof  than  by  the 
present  proposal.  My  maternal  heart  is  justly  alarmed  for  the 
safety  of  my  two  sons  and  my  son-in-law,  who  are  in  the  army. 
I  have  taken  this  step  yithout  the  knowledge  of  my  son  the 
emperor,  and  I  entreat,  whatever  may  be  the  event,  that  you 
will  not  divulge  it.  I  am  anxious  to  re-commence  and  ter- 
minate the  negotiation  hitherto  conducted  by  the  emperor,  and 
broken  off  to  my  extreme  regret.  This  letter  will  be  de- 
livered to  you  by  Baron  Thugut,  who  is  intrusted  with  full 
powers.  Ardently  hoping  that  it  may  fulfill  my  wishes  con- 
formably to  my  dignity,  I  entreat  you  to  join  your  efforts  with 
mine  to  re-establish  between  us  harmony  and  good  intelli- 
gence, for  the  benefit  of  mankind  and  the  interest  of  our 
respective  families."* 

This  letter  enclosed  proposals  of  peace  on  moderate  terms. 
The  king's  answer  is  really  honorable  to  himself  as  well  as  to 
the  empress-queen : — 

"  Baron  Thugut  has  delivered  to  me  your  imperial  majesty's 
letter,  and  no  one  is  or  shall  be  acquainted  with  his  arrival.  It 
was  worthy  of  your  majesty's  character  to  give  these  proofs  of 
magnanimity  and  moderation  in  a  litigious  cause,  after  having  so 
heroically  maintained  the  inheritance  of  your  ancestors.  The 
tender  attachment  which  you  display  for  your  son  the  emperor 
and  the  princess  of  your  blood,  deserves  the  applause  of  every 
feeling  mind,  and  augments,  if  possible,  the  high  consideration 
which  I  entertain  for  your  sacred  person.  I  have  added  some 
articles  to  the  propositions  of  Baron  Thugut,  most  of  which  have 
been  allowed,  and  others  will,  I  hope,  meet  with  little  difficulty. 
He  will  immediately  depart  for  Vienna,  and  will  be  able  to 
return  in  five  or  six  days,  during  which  time  I  will  act  with  such 

*  Coxe's  Memoirs  of  the  House  of  Austria,  vol.  ii.  p.  531. 


MARIA     THERESA.  313 

caution  that  your  imperial  majesty  may  have  no  cause  of  appre- 
hension for  the  safety  of  any  part  of  your  family,  and  particu- 
larly of  the  emperor,  whom  I  love  and  esteem,  although  our 
opinions  differ  in  regard  to  the  affairs  of  Germany." 

It  is  pleasing  to  see  these  two  sovereigns,  after  thirty-eight 
years  of  systematic  hostility,  mutual  wrongs,  and  personal  aver- 
sion, addressing  each  other  in  terms  so  conciliatory,  and  which, 
as  the  event  showed,  were  at  this  time  sincere. 

The  accommodation  was  not  immediately  arranged.  Freder- 
ick demurred  on  some  points,  and  the  Emperor  Joseph,  when 
made  acquainted  with  the  negotiation,  was  indignant  at  the  con- 
cessions which  his  mother  had  made,  and  which  he  deemed 
humiliating — as  if  it  could  be  humiliating  to  undo  wrong,  to 
revoke  injustice,  to  avert  crime,  and  heal  animosities.  But 
Maria  Theresa  was  not  discouraged,  nor  turned  from  her 
generous  purpose.  She  was  determined  that  the  last  hours 
of  her  reign  should  not,  if  possible,  be  stained  by  bloodshed 
or  disturbed  by  tumult.  She  implored  the  mediation  of  the 
Empress  of  Russia.  She  knew  that  the  reigning  foible  of  the 
imperial  Catherine,  like  that  of  the  plebeian  Pompadour,  was 
vanity — intense,  all-absorbing  vanity — and  might  be  soothed 
and  flattered  by  the  same  means.  She  addressed  to  her, 
therefore,  an  eloquent  letter,  in  which  praise,  and  deference, 
and  argument  were  so  well  mingled,  and  so  artfully  calculated 
to  win  that  vain-glorious  but  accomplished  woman,  that  she 
receded  from  her  first  design  of  supporting  the  King  of  Prussia, 
and  consented  to  interfere  as  mediatrix.  After  a  long  negotia- 
tion and  many  difficulties,  which  Maria  Theresa  met  and  over- 
came with  firmness  and  talent  worthy  of  her  brightest  days, 
the  peace  was  signed  at  Teschen,  in  Saxony,  on  the  13th  of 
May,  the  birth-day  of  the  empress-queen. 


314  MARIA      THERESA. 

The  treaty  of  Teschen  was  the  last  political  event  of  Maria 
Theresa's  reign  in  which  she  was  actively  and  personally  con- 
cerned. Her  health  had  been  for  some  time  declining,  and 
for  several  months  previous  to  her  death  she  was  unable  to  move 
from  her  chair  without  assistance ;  yet,  notwithstanding  her 
many  infirmities,  her  deportment  was  still  dignified,  her  manner 
graceful  as  well  as  gracious,  and  her  countenance  benign. 

She  had  long  accustomed  herself  to  look  death  steadily  in 
the  face,  and  when  the  hour  of  trial  came,  her  resignation,  her 
fortitude,  and  her  humble  trust  in  Heaven  never  failed  her. 
She  preserved  to  the  last  her  self-possession  and  her  strength 
of  mind,  and  betrayed  none  of  those  superstitious  terrors  which 
might  have  been  expected  and  pardoned  in  Maria  Theresa. 

Until  the  evening  preceding  her  death,  she  was  engaged  in 
signing  papers,  and  in  giving  her  last  advice  and  directions  to 
her  successor ;  and  when,  perceiving  her  exhausted  state,  her 
son  entreated  her  to  take  some  repose,  she  replied  steadily, — 
"  In  a  few  hours  I  shall  appear  before  the  judgment-seat  of 
God,  and  would  you  have  me  sleep  ?" 

Maria  Theresa  expired  on  the  29th  of  November,  1780,  in 
her  sixty-fourth  year  ;  and  it  is,  in  truth,  most  worthy  of  remark, 
that  the  regrets  of  her  family  and  her  people  did  not  end  with 
the  pageant  of  her  funeral,  nor  were  obliterated  by  the  new 
interests,  new  hopes,  new  splendors  of  a  new  reign.  Years 
after  her  death  she  was  still  remembered  with  tenderness  and 
respect,  and  her  subjects  dated  events  from  the  time  of  then* 
"  mother,"  the  empress.  The  Hungarians,  who  regarded  them- 
selves as  her  own  especial  people,  still  distinguish  ^heir  country 
from  Austria  and  Bohemia,  by  calling  it  the  "  territory  of  the 
queen." 


HAD  Charlotte  Corday  lived  in  the  days  of  the  Greek  or  Roman 
republics,  the  action  which  has  given  celebrity  to  her  name 
would  have  elevated  her  memory  to  the  highest  rank  of  civic 
virtue.  The  Christian  moralist  judges  of  such  deeds  by  a  dif- 
ferent standard.  The  meek  spirit  of  the  Saviour's  religion  raises 
its  voice  against  murder  of  every  denomination,  leaving  to  Di- 
vine Providence  the  infliction  of  its  will  upon  men  like  Marat, 
whom,  for  wise  and  inscrutable  purposes,  it  sends,  from  time  to 
time,  as  scourges  upon  earth.  In  the  present  instance,  Char- 
lotte Corday  anticipated  the  course  of  nature  but  a  few  weeks, 
perhaps  only  a  few  days  ;  for  Marat,  when  she  killed  him,  was 
already  stricken  with  mortal  disease.  Fully  admitting,  as  I 
sincerely  do,  the  Christian  precept  in  its  most  comprehensive 
sense,  I  am  bound  to  say,  nevertheless,  that  Charlotte  Corday's 
error  arose  from  the  noblest  and  most  exalted  feelings  of  the 
human  heart ;  that  she  deliberately  sacrificed  her  life  to  the 
purest  love  of  her  country,  unsullied  by  private  feelings  of  any 
kind  ;  and  that,  having  expiated  her  error  by  a  public  execution, 
the  motive  by  which  she  was  actuated,  and  the  lofty  heroism  she 
displayed,  entitle  her  to  the  admiration  of  posterity. 

Marie  Adelaide  Charlotte,  daughter  of  Jean  Fran£ois  Corday 
d'Armans,  and  Charlotte  Godier,  his  wife,  was  born  in  1768,  at 
St.  Saturnin,  near  Seez,  in  Normandy.  Her  family  belonged 
to  the  Norman  nobility,  of  which  it  was  not  one  of  the  least 


318  CHARLOTTE     CORDAY. 

ancient,  and  she  was  descended,  on  the  female  side,  from  the 
great  Corneille.  She  was  educated  at  the  Abbey  of  the  Holy 
Trinity,  at  Caen,  and  from  her  earliest  youth  evinced  superior 
intellectual  endowments. 

From  a  peculiar  bent  of  mind  very  uncommon  in  females, 
especially  at  that  period,  Charlotte  Corday  devoted  herself  to 
the  study  of  politics  and  the  theory  of  government.  Strongly 
tinctured  with  the  philosophy  of  the  last  century,  and  deeply 
read  in  ancient  history,  she  had  formed  notions  of  pure  repub- 
licanism which  she  hoped  to  see  realized  in  her  own  country. 
A  friend  at  first  to  the  revolution,  she  exulted  in  the  opening 
dawn  of  freedom  ;  but  when  she  saw  this  dawn  overcast  by  the 
want  of  energy  of  the  Grirondins,  the  mean  and  unprincipled 
conduct  of  the  Feuillans,  and  the  sanguinary  ferocity  of  the 
Mountain  party,  she  thought  only  of  the  means  of  averting 
the  calamities  which  threatened  again  to  enslave  the  French 
people. 

On  the  overthrow  of  the  Grirondins,  and  their  expulsion  from 
the  Convention,  Charlotte  Corday  was  residing  at  Caen,  with 
her  relation,  Madame  de  Broteville.  She  had  always  been  an 
enthusiastic  admirer  of  the  federal  principles  of  this  party,  so 
eloquently  developed  in  their  writings,  and  had  looked  up  to 
them  as  the  saviors  of  France.  She  was,  therefore,  not  pre- 
pared for  the  weakness,  and  even  pusillanimity,  which  they 
afterwards  displayed. 

The  Girondist  representatives  sought  refuge  in  the  depart- 
ment of  Calvados,  where  they  called  upon  every  patriot  to  take 
up  arms  in  defence  of  freedom.  On  their  approach  to  Caen, 
Charlotte  Corday,  at  the  head  of  the  young  girls  of  that  city, 
bearing  crowns  and  flowers,  went  out  to  meet  them.  The  civic 
crown  was  presented  to  Lanjuinais,  and  Charlotte  herself  placed 


CHARLOTTE     CORDAY.  319 

it  upon  his  head — a  circumstance  which  must  constitute  not  the 
least  interesting  recollection  of  Lanjuinais'  life. 

Marat  was,  at  this  period,  the  ostensible  chief  of  the  Moun- 
tain party,  and  the  most  sanguinary  of  its  members.  He  was  a 
monster  of  hideous  deformity,  both  in  mind  and  person  ;  his  lank 
and  distorted  features,  covered  with  leprosy,  and  his  vulgar  and 
ferocious  leer,  were  a  true  index  of  the  passions  which  worked 
in  his  odious  mind.  A  series  of  unparalleled  atrocities  had 
raised  him  to  the  highest  power  with  his  party  ;  and  though  he 
professed  to  be  merely  passive  in  the  revolutionary  government, 
his  word  was  law  with  the  Convention,  and  his  fiat  irrevocable. 
In  every  thing  relating  to  the  acquisition  of  wealth,  he  was  in- 
corruptible, and  even  gloried  in  his  poverty.  But  the  immense 
influence  he  had  acquired,  turned  his  brain,  and  he  gave  full 
range  to  the  evil  propensities  of  his  nature,  now  unchecked  by 
any  authority.  He  had  formed  principles  of  political  faith  in 
which,  perhaps,  he  sincerely  believed,  but  which  were  founded 
upon  his  inherent  love  of  blood,  and  his  hatred  of  every  human 
beino1  who  evinced  talents  or  virtue  above  his  fellow-men.  The 

O 

guillotine  was  not  only  the  altar  of  the  distorted  thing  he  wor- 
shiped under  the  name  of  Liberty,  but  it  was  also  the  instrument 
of  his  pleasures — for  his  highest  gratification  was  the  writhings 
of  the  victim  who  fell  under  its  axe.  Even  Robespierre  at- 
tempted to  check  this  unquenchable  thirst  for  human  blood,  but 
in  vain— opposition  only  excited  Marat  to  greater  atrocities. 
With  rage  depicted  in  his  livid  features,  and  with  the  howl  of 
a  demoniac,  he  would  loudly  declare  that  rivers  of  blood  could 
alone  purify  the  land,  and  must  therefore  flow.  In  his  paper 
entitled,  "  L'Ami  du  Peuple,"  he  denounced  all  those  whom  he 
had  doomed  to  death,  and  the  guillotine  spared  none  whom  he 
designated. 


320  CHARLOTTE     CORDAY. 

Charlotte  Corday,  having  read  his  assertion  in  this  journal, 
(that  three  hundred  thousand  heads  were  requisite  to  consolidate 
the  liberties  of  the  French  people,)  could  not  contain  her  feel- 
ings. Her  cheeks  flushed  with  indignation, — 

"  What !"  she  exclaimed,  "  is  there  not  in  the  whole  country 
a  man  bold  enough  to  kill  this  monster  ?" 

Meanwhile,  an  insurrection  against  the  ruling  faction  was  in 
progress,  and  the  exiled  deputies  had  established  a  central  as- 
sembly at  Caen,  to  direct  its  operations.  Charlotte  Corday, 
accompanied  by  her  father,  regularly  attended  the  sittings  of 
this  assembly,  where  her  striking  beauty  rendered  her  the  more 
remarkable,  because  from  the  retired  life  she  led,  she  was  pre- 
viously unknown  to  any  of  the  members. 

Though  the  eloquence  of  the  Girondins  was  here  powerfully 
displayed,  their  actions  but  little  corresponded  with  it.  A  libe- 
rating army  had  been  formed  in  the  department,  and  placed 
under  the  command  of  General  Felix  Wimpfen.  But  neither 
this  general  nor  the  deputies  took  any  measures  worthy  of  the 
cause  ;  then:  proceedings  were  spiritless  and  emasculate,  and 
excited,  without  checking,  the  faction  in  power.  Marat  de- 
nounced the  Girondins  in  his  paper,  and  demanded  their  death 
as  necessary  for  the  safety  of  the  republic. 

Charlotte  Corday  was  deeply  afflicted  at  the  nerveless 
measures  of  the  expelled  deputies,  and  imagining  that,  if  she 
could  succeed  in  destroying  Marat,  the  fall  of  his  party  must 
necessarily  ensue,  she  determined  to  offer  up  her  own  life  for 
the  good  of  her  country.  She  accordingly  called  on  Barbaroux, 
one  of  the  Girondist  leaders,  with  whom  she  was  not  personally 
acquainted,  and  requested  a  letter  of  introduction  to  M^. 
Duperret,  a  deputy,  favorable  to  the  Girondins,  and  then  at 
Paris.  Having  also  requested  Barbaroux  to  keep  her  secret, 


CHARLOTTE     CORDAY.  321 

she  wrote  to  her  father,,  stating,  that  she  had  resolved  to  emi- 
grate to  England,  and  had  set  out  privately  for  that  country, 
where  alone  she  could  live  in  safety. 

She  arrived  at  Paris  at  the  beginning  of  July,  1793,  and  im- 
mediately called  upon  M.  Duperret.  But  she  found  this  deputy 
as  devoid  of  energy  as  of  talent,  and  therefore  only  made  use  of 
him  to  assist  her  in  transacting  some  private  business. 

A  day  or  two  after  her  arrival,  an  incident  occurred,  which 
is  worthy  of  a  place  here. 

Being  at  the  Tuileries,  she  seated  herself  upon  a  bench  in 
the  garden.  A  little  boy,  attracted  no  doubt  by  the  smile  with 
which  she  greeted  him,  enlisted  her  as  a  companion  of  his  gam- 
bols. Encouraged  by  her  caresses,  he  thrust  his  hand  into  her 
half-open  pocket  and  drew  forth  a  small  pistol. 

"  What  toy  is  this  r"  said  he. 

"It  is  a  toy,'.'  Charlotte  replied,  "  which  may  prove  very 
useful  in  these  times." 

So  saying,  she  quickly  concealed  the  weapon,  and  looking 
round  to  see  whether  she  was  observed,  immediately  left  the 
garden. 

On  the  llth  of  July,  Charlotte  Corday  attended  the  sitting 
of  the  Convention,  with  a  determination  to  shoot  Marat  hi  the 
midst  of  the  assembly.  But  he  was  too  ill  to  leave  his  house  ; 
and  she  had  to  listen  to  a  long  tirade  against  the  Grtrondins, 
made  by  Cambon,  in  a  report  on  the  state  of  the  country. 

On  the  12th,  at  nine  o'clock  in  the  evening,  she  called  on 
M.  Prud'homme,  a  historian  of  considerable  talent  and  strict 
veracity,  with  whose  writings  on  the  revolution  she  had  been 
much  struck. 

"  No  one  properly  understands  the  state  of  France,"  said 
she,  with  the  accent  of  true  patriotism ;  "  your  writings  alone 


322  CHARLOTTE      CORDAY. 

have  made  an  impression  upon  me,  and  that  is  the  reason  why  I 
have  called  upon  you.  Freedom,  as  you  understand  it,  is  for 
all  conditions  and  opinions.  You  feel,  in  a  word,  that  you  have 
a  country.  All  the  other  writers  on  the  events  of  the  day  are 
partial,  and  full  of  empty  declamation — they  are  wholly  guided 
by  factions,  or,  what  is  worse,  by  coteries." 

M.  Prud'homme  says,  that,  in  this  interview,  Charlotte  Cor- 
day  appeared  to  him  a  woman  of  most  elevated  mind  and 
striking  talent. 

The  day  after  this  visit,  she  went  to  the  Palais  Royal  and 
bought  a  sharp-pointed  carving-knife,  with  a  black  sheath.  On 
her  return  to  the  hotel  in  which  she  lodged — Hotel  de  la 
Providence,  Rue  des  Augustins — she  made  her  preparations  for 
the  deed  she  intended  to  commit  next  day.  Having  put  up  her 
papers  in  order,  she  placed  a  certificate  of  her  baptism  in  a  red 
pocket-book,  in  order  to  take  it  with  her,  and.  thus  establish  her 
identity.  This  she  did  because  she  had  resolved  to  make  no 
attempt  to  escape,  and  was  therefore  certain  she  should  leave 
Marat's  house  for  the  conciergerie,  preparatory  to  her  appearing 
before  the  revolutionary  tribunal. 

Next  morning,  the  14th,  taking  with  her  the  knife  she  had 
purchased,  and  her  red  pocket-book,  she  proceeded  to  Marat's 
residence,  at  No.  18,  Rue  de  1'Ecole  de  Medicine.  The  re- 
presentative was  ill,  and  could  not  be  seen,  and  Charlotte's 
entreaties  for  admittance  on  the  most  urgent  business  were 
unavailing.  She  therefore  withdrew,  and  wrote  the  following 
note,  which  she  herself  delivered  to  Marat's  servant : — 

"  CITIZEN  REPRESENTATIVE, 

"  I  am  just  arrived  from  Caen.  Your  well-known  patriot- 
ism leads  me  to  presume  that  you  will  be  glad  to  be  made  ac- 


CHARLOTTE     CORDAY.  323 

quainted  with  what  is  passing  in  that  part  of  the  republic.  I 
will  call  on  you  again  in  the  course  of  the  day  ;  have  the  good- 
ness to  give  orders  that  I  may  be  admitted,  and  grant  me  a  few 
minutes'  conversation.  I  have  important  secrets  to  reveal  to 

"  CHARLOTTE  CORDAY." 

At  seven  o'clock  in  the  evening  she  returned,  and  reached 
Marat's  ante-chamber  ;  but  the  woman  who  waited  upon  him 
refused  to  admit  her  to  the  monster's  presence.  Marat,  how- 
ever, who  was  in  a  bath  in  the  next  room,  hearing  the  voice  of 
a  young  girl,  and  little  thinking  she  had  come  to  deprive  him 
of  life,  ordered  that  she  should  be  shown  in.  Charlotte  seated 
herself  by  the  side  of  the  bath.  The  conversation  ran  upon 
the  disturbances  in  the  department  of  Calvados,  and  Charlotte, 
fixing  her  eyes  upon  Marat's  countenance  as  if  to  scrutinize  his 
most  secret  thoughts,  pronounced  the  names  of  several  of  the 
Girondist  deputies. 

"  They  shall  soon  be  arrested,"  he  cried  with  a  howl  of 
rage,  "  and  executed  the  same  day." 

He  had  scarcely  uttered  these  words,  when  Charlotte's  knife 
was  buried  in  his  bosom. 

"  Help  !"  he  cried,  "  help  !  I  am  murdered."  He  died  im- 
mediately. 

Charlotte  might  have  escaped,  but  she  had  no  such  intention. 
She  had  undertaken,  what  she  conceived,  a  meritorious  action, 
and  was  resolved  to  stay  and  ascertain  whether  her  aim  had  been 
sure.  In  a  short  time,  the  screams  of  Marat's  servant  brought 
a  crowd  of  people  into  the  room.  Some  of  them  beat  and  ill- 
used  her,  but,  the  Members  of  the  Section  having  arrived,  she 
placed  herself  under  their  protection.  They  were  all  struck 
with  her  extraordinary  beauty,  as  well  as  with  the  calm  and  lofty 


324  CHARLOTTE     CORDAY. 

heroism  that  beamed  from  her  countenance.  Accustomed  as 
they  were  to  the  shedding  of  human  blood,  they  could  not  be- 
hold unmoved  this  beautiful  girl,  who  had  not  yet  reached  her 
twenty-fifth  year,  standing  before  them  with  unblenching  eye, 
but  with  modest  dignity,  awaiting  their  fiat  of  death,  for  a  deed 
which  she  imagined  would  save  her  country  from  destruction. 
At  length  Danton  arrived,  and  treated  her  with  the  most  de- 
basing indignity,  to  which  she  only  opposed  silent  contempt. 
She  was  then  dragged  into  the  street,  placed  in  a  coach,  and 
Drouet  was  directed  to  conduct  her  to  the  conciergeric.  On  her 
way  thither,  she  was  attacked  by  the  infuriated  multitude. 
Here,  for  the  first  time,  she  evinced  symptoms  of  alarm.  The 
possibility  of  being  torn  to  pieces  in  the  streets,  and  her  muti- 
lated limbs  dragged  through  the  kennel  and  made  sport  of  by 
the  ferocious  rabble,  had  never  before  occurred  to  her  imagina- 
tion. The  thought  now  struck  her  with  dismay,  and  roused  all 
her  feelings  of  female  delicacy.  The  firmness  of  Drouet,  how- 
ever, saved  her,  and  she  thanked  him  warmly. 

"  Not  that  Pfeared  to  die,"  she  said  ;  "  but  it  was  repugnant 
to  my  woman's  nature  to  be  torn  to  pieces  before  everybody." 

Whilst  she  was  at  the  conciergerie,  a  great  many  persons 
obtained  leave  to  see  her ;  and  all  felt  the  most  enthusiastic 
admiration  on  beholding  a  young  creature  of  surpassing  loveli- 
ness, with  endowments  that  did  honor  to  her  sex,  and  a  loftiness 
of  heroism  to  which  few  of  the  stronger  sex  have  attained,  who 
had  deliberately  executed  that  which  no  man  in  the  country  had 
resolution  to  attempt,  though  the  whole  nation  wished  it,  and 
calmly  given  up  her  life  for  the  public  weal. 

Charlotte's  examination  before  the  revolutionary  tribunal  is 
remarkable  for  the  dignified  simplicity  of  her  answers.  I  shall 
only  mention  one  which  deserves  to  be  handed  down  to  posterity  : 


CHARLOTTE     CORDAY.  .       325 

"  Accused,"  said  the  president,  "  how  happened  it  that  thou 
couldst  reach  the  heart  at  the  very  first  blow  ?  Hadst  thou 
been  practicing  beforehand  ?"  -.  •.»  ^ 

Charlotte  cast  an  indescribable  look  at  the  questioner. 

"  Indignation  had  roused  my  heart,"  she  replied,  "  and  it 
showed  me  the  way  to  his." 

When  the  sentence  of  death  was  passed  on  her,  and  all  her 
property  declared  forfeited  to  the  state,  she  turned  to  her  coun- 
sel, M.  Chauveau  Lagarde, — 

"  I  cannot,  sir,  sufficiently  thank  you,"  she  said,  "  for  the 
noble  and  delicate  manner  in  which  you  have  defended  me  ; 
and  I  will  at  once  give  you  a  proof  of  my  gratitude.  I  have 
now  nothing  in  the  world,  and  I  bequeath  to  you  the  few  debts 
I  have  contracted  in  my  prison.  Pray,  discharge  them  for  me." 

When  the  executioner  came  to  make  preparations  for  her 
execution,  she  entreated  him  not  to  cut  off  her  hair. 

"  It  shall  not  be  in  your  way,"  she  said  ;  and  taking  her 
stay  lace  she  tied  her  thick  and  beautiful  hair  on  the  top  of  her 
head,  so  as  not  to  impede  the  stroke  of  the  axe. 

In  her  last  moments,  she  refused  the  assistance  of  a  priest ; 
and  upon  this  is  founded  a  charge  of  her  being  an  infidel.  But 
there  is  nothing  to  justify  so  foul  a  blot  upon  her  memory. 
Charlotte  Corday  had  opened  her  mind,  erroneously  perhaps,  to 
freedom  of  thought  in  religion  as  well  as  in  politics.  Deeply 
read  in  the  philosophic  writings  of  the  day,  she  had  formed 
her  own  notions  of  faith.  She  certainly  rejected  the  com- 
munion of  the  Roman  Church  ;  and  it  may  be  asked,  whether 
the  conduct  of  the  hierarchy  of  France  before  the  revolution 
was  calculated  to  convince  her  that  she  was  in  error  ?  But, 
because  she  refused  the  aid  of  man  as  a  mediator  between  her 
and  God,  is  it  just  to  infer  that  she  rejected  her  Creator  ?  Cer- 


^=£  " 


326  CHARLOTTE     CORDAY. 

tainly  not.  A  mind  like  hers  was  incapable  of  existing  without 
religion ;  and  the  very  action  she  committed  may  justify  the 
inference  that  she  anticipated  the  contemplation,  from  other 
than  earthly  realms,  of  the  happiness  of  her  rescued  country. 

As  the  cart  in  which  she  was  seated  proceeded  towards  the 
place  of  execution,  a  crowd  of  wretches  in  the  street,  ever 
ready  to  insult  the  unfortunate,  and  glut  their  eyes  with  the 
sight  of  blood,  called  out, — 

"  To  the  guillotine  with  her !" 

"  I  am  on  my  way  thither,"  she  mildly  replied,  turning 
towards  them. 

She  was  a  striking  figure  as  she  sat  in  the  cart.  The  ex- 
traordinary beauty  of  her  features,  and  the  mildness  of  her  look, 
strangely  contrasted  with  the  murderer's  red  garment  which 
she  wore.  She  smiled  at  the  spectators  whenever  she  perceived 
marks  of  sympathy  rather  than  of  curiosity,  and  this  smile  gave 
a  truly  Raphaelic  expression  to  her  countenance.  Adam  Lux, 
a  deputy  of  Mayence,  having  met  the  cart,  shortly  after  it  left 
the  conciergerie,  gazed  with  wonder  at  this  beautiful  apparition 
— for  he  had  never  before  seen  Charlotte — and  a  passion,  as 
singular  as  it  was  deep,  immediately  took  possession  of  his 
mind. 

"Oh!"  cried  he,  "this  woman  is  surely  greater  than 
Brutus !" 

Anxious  once  more  to  behold  her,  he  ran  at  full  speed  towards 
the  Palais  Royal,  which  he  reached  before  the  cart  arrived 
in  front  of  it.  Another  look  which  he  cast  upon  Charlotte 
Corday,  completely  unsettled  his  reason.  The  world  to  him 
had  suddenly  become  a  void,  and  he  resolved  to  quit  it.  Rush- 
ing like  a  mad-man  to  his  own  house,  he  wrote  a  letter  to 
the  revolutionary  tribunal,  in  which  he  repeated  the  words  he 


CHARLOTTE     CORDAY.  327 

had  already  uttered  at  the  sight  of  Charlotte  Corday,  and  con- 
cluded by  asking  to  be  condemned  to  death,  in  order  that  he 
might  join  her  in  a  better  world.  His  request  was  granted, 
and  he  was  executed  soon  after.  Before  he  died,  he  begged 
the  executioner  to  bind  him  with  the  very  cords  that  had  before 
encircled  the  delicate  limbs  of  Charlotte  upon  the  same  scaffold, 
and  his  head  fell  as  he  was  pronouncing  her  name. 

Charlotte  Corday,  wholly  absorbed  by  the  solemnity  of  her 
last  moments,  had  not  perceived  the  effect  she  had  produced 
upon  Adam  Lux,  and  died  in  ignorance  of  it.  Having  reached 
the  foot  of  the  guillotine,  she  ascended  the  platform  with  a  firm 
step,  but  with  the  greatest  modesty  of  demeanor.  "  Her  coun- 
tenance," says  an  eye-witness,  "  evinced  only  the'calmness  of  a 
soul  at  peace  with  itself." 

The  executioner  having  removed  the  handkerchief  which 
covered  her  shoulders  and  bosom,  her  face  and  neck  became 
suffused  with  a  deep  blush.  Death  had  no  terrors  for  her,  but 
her  innate  feelings  of  modesty  were  deeply  wounded  at  being 
thus  exposed  to  public  gaze.  Her  being  fastened  to  the  fatal 
plank  seemed  a  relief  to  her,  and  she  eagerly  rushed  to  death  as 
a  refuge  against  this  violation  of  female  delicacy. 

When  her  head  fell,  the  executioner  took  it  up  and  bestowed 
a  buffet  upon  one  of  the  cheeks.  The  eyes,  which  were  already 
closed,  again  opened,  and  cast  a  look  of  indignation  upon  the 
brute,  as  if  consciousness  had  survived  the  separation  of  the 
head  from  the  body.  This  fact,  extraordinary  as  it  may  seem, 
has  been  averred  by  thousands  of  eye-witnesses ;  it  has  been 
accounted  for  in  various  ways,  and  no  one  has  ever  questioned 
its  truth. 

Before  Charlotte  Corday  was  taken  to  execution,  she  wrote  a 
letter  to  her  father  entreating  his  pardon  for  having,  without  his 


328  CHARLOTTE     CORDAY. 

permission,  disposed  of  the  life  she  owed  him.  Here  the 
lofty-minded  heroine  again  became  the  meek  and  submissive 
daughter — as,  upon  the  scaffold,  the  energetic  and  daring  woman 
was  nothing  but  a  modest  and  gentle  girl. 

The  Mountain  party,  furious  at  the  loss  of  their  leader,  at- 
tempted to  vituperate  the  memory  of  Charlotte  Corday,  by 
attributing  to  her  motives  much  less  pure  and  praiseworthy  than 
those  which  really  led  to  the  commission  of  the  deed  for  which 
she  suffered.  They  asserted  that  she  was  actuated  by  revenge 
for  the  death  of  a  man  named  Belzunce,  who  was  her  lover, 
and  had  been  executed  at  Caen  upon  the  denunciation  of  Marat. 
But  Charlotte  Corday  was  totally  unacquainted  with  Belzunce 
— she  had  never  even  seen  him.  More  than  that,  she  was  never 
known  to  have  an  attachment  of  the  heart.  Her  thoughts  and 
feelings  were  wholly  engrossed  by  the  state  of  her  country,  and 
her  mind  had  no  leisure  for  the  contemplation  of  connubial  hap- 
piness. Her  life  was,  therefore,  offered  up  in  the  purest  spirit 
of  patriotism,  unmixed  with  any  worldly  passion. 

M.  Prud'homme  relates,  that,  on  the  very  day  of  Marat's 
death,  M.  Piot,  a  teacher  of  the  Italian  language,  called  upon  him. 
This  gentleman  had  just  left  Marat,  with  whom  he  had  been 
conversing  on  the  state  of  the  country.  The  representative, 
in  reply  to  some  observation  made  by  M.  Piot,  had  uttered 
these  remarkable  words  : — 

"  They  who  govern  are  a  pack  of  fools.  France  must  have 
a  chief;  but  to  reach  this  point,  blood  must  be  shed,  not  drop 
by  drop,  but  in  torrents.'1'' 

"  Marat,"  added  M.  Piot  to  M.  Prud'homme,  "  was  in  his 
bath,  and  very  ill.  This  man  cannot  live  a  month  longer." 

When  M.  Piot  was  informed  that  Marat  had  been  murdered, 
an  hour  after  he  had  made  this  communication  to  M.  Prud'- 


CHARLOTTE     CORDAY.  329 

homme,  be  was  stricken  with  a  sort  of  palsy,  and  would  probably 
have  died  of  fright,  had  not  M  .Prud'homme  promised  not  to 
divulge  this  singular  coincidence. 

To  the  eternal  disgrace  of  the  French  nation,  no  monument 
has  been  raised  to  the  memory  of  Charlotte  Corday,  nor  is  it 
even  known  where  her  remains  were  deposited  ;  and  yet,  in  the 
noble  motive  of  her  conduct,  and  the  immense  and  generous 
sacrifice  she  made  of  herself,  when  in  the  enjoyment  of  every- 
thing that  could  make  life  valuable,  she  has  an  eternal  claim 

D  * 

upon  the  gratitude  of  her  country. 


r 


EMPRESS    O.F    THE    FRENCH. 

JOSEPHINE  ROSE  TASCHER  DE  LA  PAGERIE  was  born  at  Mar- 
tinique on  the  24th  of  June,  1763.  At  a  very  early  age  she 
came  to  Paris,  where  she  married  the  Viscount  Beauharnais, 
a  man  of  talent  and  superior  personal  endowments,  but  not  a 
courtier,  as  some  writers  have  asserted,  for  he  was  never  even 
presented  at  court.  Beauharnais  was  a  man  of  limited  fortune, 
and  his  wife's  dower  more  than  doubled  his  income.  In  1787, 
Madame  Beauharnais  returned  to  Martinique  to  nurse  her  aged 
mother,  whose  health  was  in  a  declining  state  ;  but  the  dis- 
turbances which  soon  after  took  place  hi  that  colony,  drove  her 
back  to  France.  During  her  absence,  the  revolution  had  broken 
out,  and  on  her  return  she  found  her  husband  entirely  devoted 
to  those  principles  upon  which  the  regeneration  of  the  French 
people  was  to  be  founded.  The  well-known  opinions  of  the 
Viscount  Beauharnais  gave  his  wife  considerable  influence  with 
the  rulers  of  blood,  who  stretched  their  reeking  sceptre  over 
the  whole  nation ;  and  she  had  frequent  opportunities,  which 
she  never  lost,  of  saving  persons  doomed  by  their  sanguinary 
decrees.  Among  others,  Mademoiselle  de  Bethisy  was  con- 
demned, by  the  revolutionary  tribunal,  to  be  beheaded ;  but 
Madame  Beauharnais,  by  her  irresistible  intercession,  succeeded 
in  obtaining  the  life  and  freedom  of  this  interesting  lady.  The 
revolution,  however,  devouring,  like  Saturn,  its  own  children, 
spared  none  of  even  its  warmest  supporters,  the  moment  they 


332  JOSEPHINE. 


came  in  collision  with  the  governing  party,  then  composed  of 
ignorant  and  blood-thirsty  enthusiasts.  The  slightest  hesita- 
tion in  executing  any  of  their  decrees,  however  absurd  or  im- 
practicable, was  considered  a  crime  deserving  of  death.  Beau- 
harnais  had  been  appointed  general-in-chief  of  the  army  of  the 
North.  Having  failed  to  attend  to  some  foolish  order  of  the 
Convention,  he  was  cited  to  appear  at  its  bar  and  give  an 
account  of  his  conduct.  No  one  appeared  before  this  formidable 
assemby,  but  to  take,  immediately  after,  the  road  to  the  guillo- 
tine ;  and  such  was  the  case  with  the  republican  general  Beau- 
harnais.  He  was  tried,  and  condemned ;  and,  on  the  23d  of 
July,  1794,  he  was  publicly  beheaded  at  the  Place  de  la 
Revolution.  Meantime,  his  wife  had  been  thrown  into  prison, 
where  she  remained  until  Robespierre's  death,  expecting  each 
day  to  be  led  out  to  execution.  Having  at  length  recovered 
her  freedom,  she  joined  her  children,  Eugene  and  Hortcnse, 
who  had  been  taken  care  of  during  their  mother's  captivity 
by  some  true  and  devoted,  though  humble  friends.  After  the 
establishment  of  the  Directory,  Madame  Tallian  became  all- 
powerful  with  the  Director,  Barras,  to  whom  she  introduced 
Madame  Beauharnais. 

Bonaparte  at  length  became  passionately  attached  to  Madame 
Beauharnais,  and  married  her  on  the  17th  of  February,  1796. 
She  accompanied  him  to  Italy,  where  by  her  powers  of  pleasing 
she  charmed  his  toils,  and  by  her  affectionate  attentions  soothed 
his  disappointments  when  rendered  too  bitter  by  the  impedi- 
ments which  the  jealousy  of  the  Directory  threw  in  the  way 
of  his  victories. 

Bonaparte  loved  Josephine  with  great  tenderness ;  and  this 
attachment  can  be  expressed  in  no  words  but  his  own.  In  his 
letters,  published  by  Queen  Hortense,  it  may  be  seen  how 


JOSEPHINE.  333 


ardently  his  soul  of  fire  had  fixed  itself  to  hers,  and  mixed  up 
her  life  with  his  own.  These  letters  form  a  striking  record. 
A  woman  so  beloved,  and  by  such  a  man,  could  have  been 
no  ordinary  person. 

When  Napoleon  became  sovereign  of  France,  after  having 
proved  its  hero,  he  resolved  that  his  crown  should  also  grace 
the  brows  of  Josephine. 

With  his  own  hand  he  placed  the  small  crown  upon  her  head, 
just  above  the  diamond  band  which  encircled  her  forehead.  It 
was  evident  that  he  felt  intense  happiness  in  thus  honoring  the 
woman  he  loved,  and  making  her  share  his  greatness. 

It  was  truly  marvelous  to  see  Josephine  at  the  Tuilleries,  on 
grand  reception  days,  as  she  walked  through  the  Gallerie  de 
Diane  and  the  Salle  des  Marechaux.  Where  did  this  sur- 
prising woman  acquire  her  royal  bearing  ?  She  never  appeared 
at  one  of  these  splendid  galas  of  the  empire  without  exciting 
a  sentiment  of  admiration,  and  of  affection  too — for  her 
smile  was  sweet  and  benevolent,  and  her  words  mild  and 
captivating,  at  the  same  time  that  her  appearance  was 
majestic  and  imposing. 

She  had  some  very  gratifying  moments  during  her  greatness, 
if  she  afterwards  encountered  sorrow.  The  marriage  of  her 
son  Eugene  to  the  Princess  of  Bavaria,  and  that  of  her  niece  to 
the  Prince  of  Baden,  were  events  of  which  she  might  we^be 
proud.  Napoleon  seemed  to  study  how  he  could  please  her — 
he  seemed  happy  but  in  her  happiness. 

He  generally  yielded  to  her  entreaties — for  the  manner  in 
which  she  made  a  request  was  irresistible.  Her  voice  was 
naturally  harmonious  like  that  of  most  Creoles,  and  there  was 
a  peculiar  charm  in  every  word  she  uttered.  I  once  witnessed, 
at  Malmaison,  an  instance  of  her  power  over  the  emperor.  A 


334  JOSEPHINE. 


soldier  of  the  guard,  guilty  of  some  breach  of  discipline,  had 
been  condemned  to  a  very  severe  punishment.  Marshal  Bes- 
sieres  was  anxious  to  obtain  the  man's  pardon  ;  but  as  Napoleon 
had  already  given  his  decision,  there  was  no  hope  unless  the 
empress  undertook  the  affair.  She  calmly  listened  to  the 
Marshal,  and,  having  received  all  the  information  necessary, 
said,  with  her  musical  voice  and  bewitching  smile, — 

"  I  will  try  if  I  can  obtain  the  poor  man's  pardon." 

When  the  emperor  returned  to  the  drawing-room,  we  all 
looked  to  see  the  expression  his  countenance  would  assume 
when  she  mentioned  the  matter  to  him.  At  first  he  frowned, 
but,  as  the  empress  went  on,  his  brow  relaxed  ;  he  then  smiled, 
looked  at  her  with  his  sparkling  eyes,  and  said,  kissing  her  fore- 
head,— 

"  Well,  let  it  be  so  for  this  once  ;  but,  Josephine,  mind  you 
do  not  acquire  a  habit  of  making  such  applications." 

He  then  put  his  arm  round  her  waist,  and  again  tenderly 
kissed  her.  Now,  what  spell  had  she  employed  to  produce  such 
an  effect  ?  Merely  a  few  words,  and  a  look,  and  a  smile  ;  but 
each  was  irresistible. 

Then  came  days  of  anguish  and  regret.  She  had  given  no 
heir  to  Napoleon's  throne,  and  all  hope  of  such  an  event  was 
now  past.  This  wrung  her  heart ;  for  it  was  a  check  to  Na- 
pol^ph's  ambition  of  family  greatness,  and  a  disappointment  to 
the  French  nation.  The  female  members  of  Napoleon's  family 
disliked  the  empress — they  were  perhaps  jealous  of  her  influ- 
ence— and  the  present  opportunity  was  not  lost  to  impress  upon 
the  emperor  the  necessity  of  a  divorce.  At  length  he  said  to 
Josephine, — 

"  We  must  separate  ;  I  must  have  an  heir  to  my  empire." 

With  a  bleeding  heart,  she  meekly  consented  to  the  sacrifice. 


JOSEPHINE.  335 


The  particulars  of  the  divorce  are  too  well  known  to  be  re- 
peated here. 

After  this  act  of  self-immolation,  Josephine  withdrew  to 
Malmaison,  where  she  lived  in  elegant  retirement — unwilling  to 
afflict  the  emperor  with  the  news  of  her  grief,  and  wearing  a 
smile  of  seeming  content  which  but  ill  veiled  the  sorrows  of  her 
heart.  Yet  she  was  far  from  being  calm  ;  and  in  the  privacy 
of  friendship,  the  workings  of  her  affectionate  nature  would 
sometimes  burst  forth.  But  she  was  resigned  ;  and  what  more 
could  be  required  from  a  broken  heart  ? 

On  the  birth  of  the  King  of  Rome,  when  Providence  at 
length  granted  the  emperor  an  heir  to  his  thrones,  Josephine 
experienced  a  moment  of  satisfaction  which  made  her  amends 
for  many  days  of  bitterness.  All  her  thoughts  and  hopes  were 
centered  in  Napoleon  and  his  glory,  and  the  consummation  of 
his  wishes  was  to  her  a  source  of  pure  and  unutterable  satis- 
faction. 

"  My  sacrifice  will  at  least  have  been  useful  to  him  and 
to  France,"  she  said  with  tearful  eyes.  But  they  were 
tears  of  joy.  Yet  this  joy  was  not  unalloyed ;  and  the 
feeling  which  accompanied  it,  was  the  more  bitter  because  it 
could  not  be  shown.  It  was,  however,  betrayed  by  these  simple 
and  affecting  words  uttered  in  the  most  thrilling  tone  : — 

"  Alas  !  why  am  I  not  his  mother  ?" 

When  the  disasters  of  the  Russian  campaign  took  place,,  she 
was  certainly  much  more  afflicted  than  the  woman  who  filled 
her  place  at  the  Tuilleries.  When  in  private  with  any, who 
were  intimate  with  her,  she  wept  bitterly. 

The  emperor's  abdication,  and  exile  to  Elba,  cut  her  to  the 
soul. 

"  Why  did  I  leave  him  ?"  she  said,  on  hearing  that  he  had 


336  JOSEPHINE. 


set  out  alone  for  Elba  ;  "  why  did  I  consent  to  this  separation  ? 
Had  I  not  done  so,  I  should  now  be  by  his  side,  to  console  him 
in  his  misfortunes." 

Josephine  died  at  Malmaison,  on  the  29th  of  May,  1814, 
after  a  few  days  illness.  Her  two  children  were  with  her  during 
her  last  moments. 

Her  body  was  buried  in  the  church  of  Ruel.  Every  person 
of  any  note,  then  at  Paris  attended  her  funeral.  She  was  uni- 
versally regretted  by  foreigners  as  well  as  by  Frenchmen ;  and 
she  obtained,  as  she  deserved,  a  tribute  to  her  memory,  not  only 
from  the  nation,  whose  empress  she  had  once  been,  but  from 
the  whole  of  Europe,  whose  proudest  sovereigns  had  once  been 
at  her  feet. 


THE     END. 


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